Honor Your Truth 2018-2019
​I spent the last few winters at home in Minnesota writing. There were many days I never set foot outside other than to shovel. I wrote, I cried, I laughed from 5am until well past midnight, sleeping the bare minimum. When I finally went to bed, it was in anticipation of waking up to start writing again. It was glorious.
It can be a huge relief- transcendence from the incessant chatter in my head, from the to-do lists, from anything that troubles me. Not only that but it's also fun. Some of the best moments of my life have been while writing. That feeling of both freedom and connectedness. For within the mystery of an idea, in creating something out of nothing, lies the possibility.... Maybe there really is something out there, a power greater than myself, one unifying source which seems to rise up from somewhere and speak through the soul. I cannot own it. Nothing is created by me, but through me. I am unable to take any credit. Art is not mine to have, but to give courageously, humbly. For we are all conduits. It is an honor. and I am listening. I am best if I am working on the next thing, whatever it may be. When I'm not, I am lost in this world. Writing is my prayer and meditation. When I get "the chills" it is my thumbs up from God, from the Universe, from LoVE.
I've written 50+ short stories which I now use in my show. I go through phases with live performance. Beginning with playing Gretl in the Sound of Music when I was in the first grade, at the high school with the "big kids". I had no fear. I loved it. Then I don't know what happened. I got afraid and I have no idea why. It's never a plan to stop performing, but I do. However, at this time, I was playing quite a bit. I was in my "I'm a musician" phase. I don't always feel like I am. Not really, not like the real musicians. I rarely ever say the actual words- I am a musician, even though, if you came to my house, you'd be tripping over guitars, cords, and whatever else. I write a lot about the source of this disconnect. You can read a little about my winding road as a musician in my story, "The Gerbil and the Piano" on this website, as well as other stories.
.A friend suggested that I also read some stories at an upcoming show I was doing at her art gallery in Door County. She took it upon herself to put it on the posters and in the local paper, the Peninsula Pulse. I felt like I couldn't get out of it. So, thanks to her, because I fell in love with storytelling. And I wouldn't even think of leaving them out of my show now. It would be weird.
I've always envisioned returning to more of a multi-media show. Much like the "DEBRA Fell in the Fishbowl" show. I did way back in the 80's, only different. It's hard to describe how at home I feel with the stories. I am completely in the moment and have no mental chatter going on in my head. Not like when I'm playing songs which will bring on a choir of critics, in tandem, going on about how stupid I am, how bad I sound, questioning why I'm even doing it in the first place. It is baffling to me how it is I can carry on whole conversations while remembering all the lyrics and playing the song. How is it even possible? I finish the song barely knowing what I just played. It's a gift I guess, but I'd love to change that.
But it's not like that with the stories. I'm just telling the story to some people and having fun. It's a blast. It feels as if it's what I've been meant to do all along. That somehow I landed where I'm supposed to be and I did it without a map. This was never my plan. I'm beginning to think I should stay out of any plans for me entirely. I'll let the Universe come along, give me a nudge, and then I'll just say sure why not, "I Say Yes".
I travel quite a bit in the winter, which used to be my off season. I say "used to be" because I did decide to leave that job during this period of time, I just hadn't yet. I worked in Door County Wisconsin April-November and then returned to Minnesota where I technically live. However, despite owning a house in Saint Paul, it was beginning to feel less and less like home. Not because I consider any other place to be, I just didn't feel at home anywhere anymore. I could pretty much pack up my entire life and shove it in my Honda, And I did, every 6 months. Ironically, I own a Honda Fit which is very fitting (I had to say it) but seriously you would not believe how much shit you can fit in that thing. People watch in awe as I keep pulling stuff out of it like scarves from a hat.
Donna and I travel very well together. It's fun and easy. We had been to Prague a couple years prior and decided to just wing it for a few weeks. It was a blast. You can probably guess from the pictures some of the places we went. We got off the plane in Dublin and got back on in Amsterdam.... I was headed way down the rabbit hole of pictures that can never tell a story anyway, so I stopped and just put these kinda stupid pictures up.
I also went to Iceland! It was very different from any other place I'd been. Iceland is magical, otherworldly. I felt like I was cruisin' around the moon half the time. Try and find "Kringlumyrarbraut" on a map. What? God forbid you need to ask someone for help. Every day I went to a thermal pool which of course I loved because a hot bath is one of my favorite things. There happened to be a big music festival going on when I was there. I do not call these kinds of things coincidence anymore. Things you don't plan, but then there you are, wondering how you got there. Life is weird like that. And I want to remain curious.
There were 2 significant things that happened during this time in my life. Although significant doesn't quite describe them, nor their impact. The kinds of things that change you forever-who you are and who you will become. Grief is always woven into them. Grief is the thing that can actually hold you together, rather than rip you apart. Not recognizing and feeling the loss will drain the beauty right out of it. Denial of grief means denial of love. Making it smaller. Denying that anything ever really existed. It may feel safer, but it's not. Grieving may never really end, but neither does love. And do we really want it to? Part of loving anyone or anything is to be willing to lose it. But it's hard to walk straight into life and choose to feel it like that. To lose someone, leave someone, leave something, to let go, to say goodbye, even just changing something means losing what it was. There's no way around it. And it can be very painful.​​​​​
In early 2018, I said goodbye to my job in Door County
I worked at Julies Park Cafe and Motel for nearly 20 years. It was an amazing experience. The longer I'm away from it the more I realize what a loss it was, even if I was the one that decided to leave. Door County was and still is part of who I am, even though I don't work there anymore. I was known as "socks", Lol. I have 3 plastic tubs of socks and leggings and matching odds and ends in my basement. I loved Julies and Door County, the trees, the trails, all of it. I always will, but for my life as a whole, I had to make this change. I was exhausted and it had begun to feel like I didn't really live anywhere. It wasn't just that I had 2 coffee makers anymore. Basically, I had 2 completely separate and different lives as I went from one state to the other every 6 months. One worked more than humanly possible, one didn't work at all, one drank alcohol, one didn't, one had a boyfriend, one didn't.....and I was trapped in a perpetual state of I gotta get ready to go soon.
I told myself I'd figure it out. I would trust the universe, and if I was patient, my "new better life" would show up. If I practiced acceptance of an uncomfortable, yet inevitable, period of transition... surely, I'd be rewarded for it. So, I waited. I know I can't go back. But sometimes I wish I could. I do visit Door County every Fall and stay in one of the cabins for a while, see people, and do a lot of hiking and biking which I LoVE. And because I loved it so much, there hasn't been a way around grieving. And grief doesn't ever really go away; it morphs and doesn't suck all the time. The sadness is coupled with a mountain of memories and gratitude. And like it or not, that time is over. I just have to rock and roll with it.
​It took me several years to muster up the courage to do it. I was waiting for an exciting catalyst to present itself and make it easier, but it never did. I wanted to be able to say to myself, and anyone who cared to ask, that I knew what I was doing. I wanted validation that it was the right thing. I could hear "the adults" saying, "you should never leave a job without having another job lined up", or "make sure all your ducks are in a row first". Well, my ducks were definitely not in a row. But I had learned that even if I think I have them in a perfectly orchestrated row, they could all take off running every which way at any given moment. I did try to find a job that would elicit the response, "that makes sense". But ultimately, I had to force myself, and off into the unknown I went.
Later that same year, my Dad passed away.
We all called him "Daddy Rabbit". I loved him so much and when he died, I felt like I was walking around in a dense thick dark fog. How does one go on living, breathing in this fog? It's heavy and it hurts so much. I can only take the truth of it in pieces. My Dad- who when he walked in the room, you knew it- was not here anymore. How could a man like that disappear, be just... gone? Nothing could have prepared me for how it would feel to lose him. He was such a big part of my life. And yes, he's "still around". I know. But it rarely helps even if I believe it. It's just not the same. Period. Sadly, if you're a human being on this planet, then you've lost someone you dearly loved. Everyone is different but I'm fairly certain you know what I mean. And I wish you didn't. It's so hard.
The thing he said most to us was "whether the sky is blue or gray, there's something to love in every day". My neice Jessica plaques for all of us to hang on our wall. It is the Hadraba family mantra.
He loved football. He was scouted to play for the Packers but got injured. I was actually born in Green Bay. He talked in football metaphors like "if you have the ball Debra, don't look behind you, keep running" He wanted "be a coach" and coached little league for years. When he died, some of those kids, now grown up, were at his funeral. They all talked about how much my Dad meant to them.
My Dad in some kind of 70's Tarzan costume my mom made. "Jane" is off somewhere being Jane. He's just sittin' on the couch like any other day with a stogie and his briefcase.
What a crazy group of kids that didn't stop coming. Hence the handle, "Daddy Rabbit". We had this big 70's van and he would say it to truckers on the CB radio. From then on out, he was "Daddy Rabbit".
I miss him every day. I have some voicemails I can't bring myself to listen to yet. I remember so many things, big and small, and they all hurt. Like before he died, he was in the hospital a lot. I drove back and forth to Chicago, which I would never have been able to do if I was still working in Door County. I would sleep at the hospital. One night he asked me for a potato chip, and I wouldn't give it to him because "he wasn't supposed to eat them". I wanted him to live forever. As if I had any control over what was happening. I think of that moment a lot. I so wish I had given him that potato chip.
One of the countless fond memories I have of my Dad was right before he died, Heather and I were with him. He was largely incommunicative. We excitedly told him that we were going to Prague that winter. He rolled his eyes, let out an audible breath and made the Dad face that said, ayiyieeee....what now. It comes from having 5 girls to worry about. Decades of Dad advice, ideas, expressions, all that he was to us was crammed into that breath. And I will never forget it.
Heather and I went to Prague that Christmas and it was the best timing that we never could have planned. She is 18 years younger. She gave me my family nickname, "BD", pronounced beedee or beed. She couldn't say Debbie when she was little. Now everyone calls me that. I'd been to Prague many times, but not with her. She can put me into hysterics. And she "gets it", whatever "it" happens to be, despite basically having grown up in a different family. For starters, Heather was pretty much an only child, and my mom was sober for her entire childhood. I was living downtown Chicago when she was born, yet we still have a lot of shared history, maybe even another life, if that's how it works. And who knows?!?!
