Tag: Family

Celebrating the Season

The holiday season can be as busy or hectic as you’d like, but many of us find ourselves rushing around, cooking, shopping, and decorating the house. This year, after a full and productive November, I have decided to scale things back for the rest of December so I can focus on what matters most – family, friends, and great health.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I had a lot for which I could be grateful. My writing is going well, and I have settled into a daily ritual which begins with me playing You Gotta Be by Des’ree softly in the background. 

Remember, listen as your day unfolds
Challenge what the future holds
Try and keep your head up to the sky
You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser
You gotta be hard, you gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger
You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together
All I know, all I know, love will save the day

The writing time ends with looking at my word count for the day to see if I have kept the pace I set several months ago. Most days I make my goal, but sometimes I am under the count or have gotten so engrossed that I far exceed what I thought I could do for the day.

Speaking of writing, Phyllis Stone, a friend and roommate from my college days at Notre Dame, just published her first children’s picture book. The book is Oh My, Oh My, Look Up at the Sky and it is about the wonder of the sky, seen through the eyes of children. It would make a great gift for a little one. I also attended a reunion weekend for my dorm at Notre Dame and came away so impressed by the students who live there now. Their sense of community and engagement with the world gives me hope for the future, as being around younger people often does. 

I went to see the movie Wicked: For Good and thoroughly enjoyed it. Some viewers have commented that it differs from the book and the musical, but that is not uncommon when books are made into performances. And like nearly everyone else in the theater, the song that Cynthia Erivo (Elphaba) and Ariana Grande (Glinda) sing together, called For Good, left me teary-eyed and grateful for anyone who has ever been a true friend or loved me despite my quirks. I have found that real friendship has changed me in ways I could never have imagined. Love can save the day.

At a later date, I will write about Avondale, the community in Cincinnati where I lived as a child. For over a year I worked on a history project funded by the University of Cincinnati that taught me more than I ever knew about this neighborhood. At the end of November, I facilitated a panel discussion between a church community that has been in Avondale since the late 1800s and a group of Avondale leaders and residents. It was fascinating to hear the different experiences of those on the panel; it gave me an opportunity to reflect on what growing up there has meant to me.

Thanksgiving Day was calm, with family and my first attempt at making cranberry sauce. I posted a photo on my Instagram account (@writepausereflect), joking that I would still have the canned sauce available for those who like ridges in their cranberry sauce. We had a nice meal, plenty of leftovers for the next day, and time to talk and share what is going on in our lives.

December might be quieter, and I am looking forward to some travel, more family and friend time, and reading. As the month moves along, I expect more days inside, candles lit, and jazz in the background. I am preparing to winter and looking forward to it.

In peace,

Ramona

Quiet Time

I am just back from a week in New Hampshire with family and now I enter the quieter portion of the summer. The weather was great, sunny days with the kind of humidity that seems mild since I grew up in Cincinnati. We baked make-your-own pizzas in the backyard, visited Klemm’s Bakery for pastries, Hayward’s Homemade Ice Cream twice, and drove up to Cape Elizabeth, Maine for seafood and a stop at a nearby lighthouse. Being together was the best part, and I shared photos with those who could not join us. The only hiccups were flight delays, supposedly caused by “fog” in Boston. When I checked with my family in the area and spoke with a woman waiting for her daughter, everyone said there was no fog on a sunny midafternoon that they could see, but I knew the plane would leave when they said it could, so I read while waiting. I’m currently reading “How Beautiful We Were” by Imbolo Mbue, a novel about how a village in Africa is affected by the American oil company that started production and left the people and their land ravaged by illness and neglect. They resist for years, fighting to restore their homeland. I have not finished it, but there are passages so beautifully written that at times I need to put the novel down and just absorb the language and message.

I meant to write about letter writing, which many of us don’t do as much because it has been replaced with the quick text or social media update. I love writing notes and often will send a card with a letter or an article to folks, just to let them know that I am thinking of them. I don’t always get a letter back, but that is not the point for me—I love the slowing down that letter writing requires.

Last week, I did get some sad news—a friend and mentor, Ellen Doyle, OSU, passed away after living with an illness that she had been dealing with for over two years. Ellen often updated her friends, letting us know of her travels, treatments options, and speaking candidly about the gravity of her illness. I was surprised when I got word of her passing, but she had been letting us walk with her all along, preparing us for what she knew could happen.

Ellen wrote a wonderful memoir, “Dear Uncle Stanley”, which shares letters her uncle wrote during her young adulthood; she also wrote to him over those years. She was discerning and coming to understand her call to spiritual life as a sister in a religious community, and he was an older priest, speaking honestly with her about life and its challenges. I appreciated her love of letter writing and how letters are not just welcome in the moment, they also serve as a record of a moment in time. Mbue’s novel also uses letters between those in the village and a friend in the States to move the story along. There are many epistolary novels and memoirs, and I love how a letter can give an intimate portrayal of a person’s mind and heart. Ellen lived a rich and full life, and I know her spirit is at rest. That doesn’t mean I won’t miss her, but I am grateful to have known her for over 50 years.

In this quieter season, I will make a point to send a card or a letter to more people. It is more permanent than a text, even if the recipient does not hold on to it for decades like Ellen did. It is a way of checking in, letting those we care about know we are thinking of them.

This morning in my Pilates session, my trainer asked me if I was retired. I said, “No, not really; I’ll always have a project here and there.” Last week I said yes to an offer to facilitate a panel discussion, and I am in the planning stages for a few other projects that I will share as they are more fully developed. I appreciate this quieter season. I can be still long enough to let the ideas settle, like a butterfly on the coneflowers outside my window. If you are able, carve out some quiet time for yourself, whether it is a few hours or a few weeks. If we get still enough, if we are comfortable with the quiet, we can hear. And if you can hear, you can dream.

Cape Elizabeth, Maine

The Joy of Writing and Reading for an Audience

Reading stage for HOME, 2025 issue of SJCPL WRITES,
March 29, 2025

Once people find out that I am a writer, the next question is usually “What do you write about?” The truth is, as an essayist, I write about almost anything that intrigues me or makes me want to delve into my thoughts about an experience, person, belief, or issue. With all that is happening in our world, there is never a loss for topics, even if I sometimes I find myself grappling for the right words.

I recently had the pleasure of doing a reading for an essay of mine that was published in the 2025 issue of SJCPL WRITES, a literary journal published by the library. My essay, Morning at Home, is about how a morning ritual with my mother began in my childhood and changed as we both got older. I was joined by a community of several other writers who shared their own stories and poetry. Being part of a literary community is important.

Publication is never a guarantee, just ask most writers, but it is an honor when your work is recognized and appreciated. However, I truly enjoy the chance to do public readings because they allow for an almost immediate connection with the reader or an audience. And the fact that readers take the time to show up, well, I am grateful for that too. For the last few months I have been immersed in a much longer piece than the essays I usually write. I do not know exactly where this writing journey will take me next but I would not trade the time I have to focus on my writing for anything. Thanks for your support as a reader.

2024 Book Favorites

Every year I set reading goals but it is not about how many books I read just so I can hit a certain number. My reading tends towards nonfiction, including memoir. I read dozens of books in a year, but these are a few books that stood out for me in 2024.

Nonfiction

The Mango Tree by Annabelle Tometich

Tometich’s memoir opens with her Filipina mother being arrested for shooting at a man who was stealing the mangoes from her beloved tree. This incident provides the starting point for the author’s examination of her own identity, her mother’s life, and what it means to be from two worlds and cultures. I met Tometich just before her debut novel was published, when she attended my panel at AWP, an annual writing conference that brings together thousands of writers, teachers, publishers, etc. She uses her humor and introspection to tell a moving story of growing up with loss and its effects on a family.

Praisesong for Kitchen Ghosts by Crystal Wilkinson

Every Christmas since I was child, my family has had my mother’s special black walnut cookies. She would make them Christmas Eve, we could have a few after midnight mass and before settling in to wait for Christmas morning to arrive. You might have a holiday memory like that too, a special dish that sends you right back to family. In Praisesong for Kitchen Ghosts by Crystal Wilkinson, the author melds stories of her family over five generations with her memories of time spent in kitchens, her grandmother’s and her own. She pieces together parts of her family history and their life in the hills of Kentucky, where they have lived since the 1800s. From the biscuits she has mastered after watching her grandmother, to the recipes using fresh vegetables and home-raised meats, she describes how food was a language in her family. I loved this book for the stories and the recipes, which she shares with detail.

Fiction

The Love Songs of W.E.B. Dubois by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers

This book, which is several hundred pages long, is a masterpiece. It chronicles the story of a Black family from the early period in U.S. history when Africans were forcibly removed from home and brought to the United States and Native Americans had their lands stolen, to current times. Although there are sections that are painful to read because of enslavement and family trauma, I came away with a sense of how the pain of enslavement has had generational impact on this entire country and increased respect and compassion for the resilience of people who had to endure it and still survived. In December 2023, I read Let Us Descend by Jesmyn Ward and I highly recommend reading them both. In some ways they seem like companion stories.

The Rich People Have Gone Away by Regina Porter

I am starting to see more novels that are set during the COVID pandemic. This book starts with a mystery because a woman goes missing, but the real story is in the lives and reactions of the people in her circle, including her husband, a friend, and their families. COVID is always there in the background, because of the isolation and fear it caused for so many, particularly those who were affected early on such as those living in New York. Just when you think you have an answer to this puzzle, Porter spills another secret and you cannot stop reading.

My goal has been set for this year – a blend of fiction and nonfiction, authors from various backgrounds, and some books where I study the author’s craft in telling the story. Here’s to more good books in 2025!

Having Space Finding Freedom

I don’t believe in writer’s block but I do understand what it feels like to be stuck, looking for the right words when maybe any words will do. I shared over a year ago that I have been working on longer pieces that don’t lend themselves as readily to this newsletter, which was part of the reason I had not been sending as much out or with the same frequency that I used to. 

However, there is more to it than that. I started this year off with the concept of wanting more space in my life. After many years of working hard, six and sometimes seven days a week, I wanted to schedule less, reflect and rest more. But that did not happen, or at least I could not stick with that plan. In June, I wrote about learning to be present with my father as he was beginning the process of transitioning. Two days after my post, he passed on. I was with him that morning and when I got the call a few hours later, I rushed back, quickly going into the responsible mode that is familiar and second nature for me. In the hours, days, and weeks that followed, we all had a lot to take care of, and I cannot completely remember who I spoke to and when. His homegoing was a celebration of his life and I am blessed to have had such a wonderful father. I take comfort that he is at rest, and that he can be reunited with my mother—he missed her so much over these last seven years.

Where does this leave me? In some ways with more space than I have had in a long time. Some of that space is free time, and some is the hole that is there from missing my father and mother. I have wonderful memories, stories, and great family and friends, which helps a lot. And I don’t have many regrets about how I have used my time. 

These days I am trying to develop a new rhythm and routines, and resume old ones that were cast aside because of work, caregiving, fatigue, and other commitments. A last-minute train ride to Chicago with my husband. Pilates classes with different instructors. Coffees with friends who haven’t seen me as much over the last few years. Homemade soups. Reading – on my own or when I can, with an online community that talks about what is going on in our lives as much as it discusses the actual books. And rest, even though sometimes the sleep doesn’t come as quickly as I’d like. I relish my rest. 

Which brings me to my writing. Writing has always been a comfort to me, and usually comes easily. I think I worry too much about getting it right when what is most important is that I get the words down. The bigger project is going to take time, will require revision, and I will get it done, in time. But what I like about this format is its immediacy—if I have things I want to share (and write them down before I forget and get caught up in another task), getting my thoughts out in the world is not hard. I want to thank those of you who have stuck with me and I especially appreciate those who prod me when it has been too long since they have heard from me and ask about my writing. I am learning how to navigate a life that still requires structure and routine, and enjoy the space I have to create a life that works for who I am now.

Finding Comfort in Presence

1 Comment

My father is not doing well, he’s over 90 years old and his body is slowing down. He doesn’t talk as much, eat as much, or move around like he used to. Some of this was expected—I have seen the changes over the years, but his age and health are also factors. There are days when I miss the extended conversations of months and years ago, the ones that you don’t always consider might come to an end…until they do.

My father used to tell me a story about his relationship with his mother, and how it differed from the ones she had with her other children. My grandmother passed shortly after I was born, so I know her mostly through stories and photos; the stories were always happy ones. She used to worry a bit about my father because he was more likely to handle problems on his own, and she wondered if he would tell her about issues she could help him with. She knew her son well enough, and their relationship was close so they knew what was most important to them.

It was presence, the simple act of sitting together in the room, joined in spirit and ready to talk or listen should the occasion present itself. He told me, “For us, it was presence. We could be in the same room and didn’t have to say much.”

I think of those words more these days as I spend time with my father. Our visits are quieter now, sitting outside when the temperatures rise into the 70s, or inside, where he wraps himself in a blanket even as I sit there and wish for a lower temp on the air conditioner. He takes longer pauses when he speaks, and sometimes he gently closes his eyes, still listening, taking it all in, but resting. A week or so ago, I found myself remembering longer conversations and big laughs. It is a funny feeling when you realize that an experience to which you have become accustomed might not occur as frequently, or will completely stop one day.

That’s when I remembered the words he had shared with me, the idea of presence being enough. I thought how for my father, words weren’t always the most important thing, sometimes it was the presence, the silent connection that two people could share.

Now I am looking at these quieter times with my father differently. It’s not that we don’t talk, even when the laughter is not as full as before, the twinkle in his eyes and a soft chuckle let me know he is still amused by something I’m saying. I have decided to lean into his presence, the fact that we can still be in the same room and communicate with each other. It might be different, but for me, it is enough. Okay, maybe it does not always feel like quite enough, but it is as if he is gently guiding me to a new future, towards acceptance of what is coming. I believe his presence, his spirit, will remain after everything else has changed. My father and I will be connected, as he is to his mother, now long deceased, and the ancestors that came before us all. We share a spirit, they are present.

Mother’s Day 2023

Leave a comment

I wrote this post several years ago, months before my mother passed away. I often think back to it when I remember what kind of mother she was, how she allowed me to grow into the person I am but also provided knowing guidance. I am in a period of transition, and I am grateful for her, and hope this will help those who are nurturing and guiding people they love, regardless of the label others might place on the relationship.

From 2017:

This is for mothers everywhere, and for those who have poured their love, patience, and wisdom into the life of another person, whether it is your own child or someone who needed a gift that you were able and willing to provide. Despite going to Catholic grade school and college, there was a verse in […]

Happy Mother’s Day – Treasures — Ramona M. Payne

It’s been a minute

5 Comments

It’s been a minute – well actually months – since I have posted here. I have been writing a little, but when I’ve had thoughts about what to say in this space, it’s been hard to figure out what I wanted to share. I am doing well, and like many of you, I’ve had to adjust to life in this time where the COVID pandemic seems to influence everything.

A few days ago I was running some errands and decided to go to the cemetery where my mother and other family members were laid to rest. As you can see in the photo, it was a sunny day, and besides that, this cemetery has never seemed like a creepy place to me. I went because I can sit on that rock for a few minutes, gather my thoughts, talk to my mother and God, and pray. Sometimes I speak out loud, although not loudly, and at other times it is enough to be still. If I am patient, I just wait, and try to listen.

This time of year can be hard for me. People talk about the time before COVID as the “before-times” but this season is more the “between-times” for me. It is a few weeks after the day, four years ago, when we found out how sick my mother was and just a few weeks before the date she passed. It is a time when I can feel something in my body shift so slightly, and then I remember, that’s it, Ramona, it’s the same time of year as...

But this day it was not so hard. I had taken care of some important business and was on my way to a conversation that I was just not quite sure how it would play out. So I went to this quiet place, with only the sounds of birds, bugs, and the cars going by outside of the cemetery. I looked around me and was moved by the fact that so many other people had been here to say good bye to a loved one. I thought of how close this place is to the neighborhood we moved to when I was a senior in high school. Even if I just thought of my people here, there were so many good memories – of my mother and her laughter, my grandfather’s annual summer party, my aunt’s lemon meringue pie.

Over the last year and a half there has been so much loss – people, celebrations, gatherings, etc. We thought life was headed back to normal when it fact, maybe there is no longer normal, but just now, and the steps we take to shift to whatever is happening now. I am grateful to still be here, to have my memories and my hopes for a future. I will try to write here more often because there is one thing I have learned over the last year – waiting for perfect means I will surely miss it.

Thanksgiving 2020

2 Comments

This Thanksgiving is going to be different, quieter and smaller, which is exactly what I need. It will be at home, just me with my husband, and far fewer sides on the table. I wish more of my family could be with us, but all of us are staying closer to home this year. The COVID pandemic has required that we shift, and shift we will, because we have so much for which we are grateful, and hopes for a calmer future when things settle down after the pandemic.

I am grateful for the fact that although we have had family members come down with COVID, everyone has recovered. Not all families have had that good fortune, and I wish them comfort during what has to be a hard time.

We have our jobs, and with jobs, the chance to help others who have lost theirs. That is another blessing. We also have our hobbies and other delights – some like to fish, others go to their instruments, or read, build furniture, cook, watch sports or movies, write, or play in the teepee that is resident in the living room. A weekly Zoom call is another way we stay connected and has made the distance much easier to bear.

I am grateful because even though I miss my mother—we all do—she taught us the importance of family and made our holidays special. That is a good memory. And my father is with us, still teaching and learning, sharing his insights, and reminding us where we come from. 

This Thanksgiving will be quieter and smaller, but no less rich because of the huge changes many of us have had to make because of the pandemic. I hope you are able to celebrate the day in a way that has meaning for you. And if it is not quite what you had hoped for, I hope you will experience some measure of peace that helps you get through until the world gets better.

Have a peaceful and safe Thanksgiving,

Ramona