Barb Caffrey's Blog

Writing the Elfyverse . . . and beyond

Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Why My Novels Aren’t Currently Available…and What I Plan to Do About It (Plus an Update about the Housing Search)

with 5 comments

Folks, I had a few folks asking me lately, “Barb, what happened to your novels? Where are they? Why can’t I find them?”

The answer is, my former publisher, Twilight Times Books (TTB), has released the novels back to me. That means it is now up to me to republish them, independently. I have negotiated for the original covers (as I liked them) and it looks like I will have access to those. I’ll write some sort of forward and new afterword, I’m sure, too…but with everything else still in major flux, I just haven’t had the concentration I need to get everything in train.

My former publisher, Lida Quillen of TTB, has been great. I have the formatted files she used (a major help), along with other files for the covers, and now it’s just a matter of me getting a few hours of good-to-excellent concentration (so I can concentrate on writing a forward and an afterword and add that to the files, hoping I don’t manage to screw up the formatting in so doing) to get them back out there and available again.

So, for the moment, my three novels AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE (aka Elfy Book 1), A LITTLE ELFY IN BIG TROUBLE (aka Elfy Book 2), and CHANGING FACES (a gender-bending spiritual romance that’s been called “Freaky Friday on Acid” that has nothing whatsoever to do with the Elfy books) are unavailable.

I hope to have them back up and available by December 15, 2025. I’m saying this now, publicly, openly, just so you know I am working on it, and that I will find a way to get it done. (Without Lida’s helpfulness in getting me the files and putting me in touch with the cover artists, I wouldn’t have known what to do. I appreciate her willingness to help, as she didn’t have to do anything of the sort.)

While I have many short stories out there and still have the two first stories about Joey Maverick and the very first one about Peter Welmsley available (all three listed as co-written by Michael, my late husband, as these were originally his characters and much of what I had was stuff I’d expanded out a little bit), it is odd not to have my three novels available to purchase.

That will be rectified soon, no matter what, because it’s important that these novels be put back out there for my own peace of mind. I worked hard on these books, I believe they have worth and value, and it is imperative I get them back out there.

By the way, for those of you asking for a moving update…I’m in a holding pattern. I am on quite a few waiting lists for apartments, but there seems to be very little movement in the housing market right now, possibly because of the uncertainty regarding the economy. And the one day I did get a solid tip about an apartment, I wasn’t able to follow through with it due to health reasons. (It was only going to be shown for one day for two hours. I could not get there at that time. I felt bad I couldn’t get there.)

My stuff is mostly in storage and has been for a bit under three months. It’s safe, as the place I picked is reliable, and there are cameras there. The lock they gave me is hard for me to operate (I have tendinitis in both hands and wrists), so when I go there I have to make sure I have someone else with me to open and close the gate (when I went there once by myself, I ended up having to call my best friend’s husband to ask for help as he was one of the folks who helped me get stuff into storage in the first place). It’s like adding an extra obstacle to a course already full of them.

But I persevere, and do the best I can, and hope for better days ahead. Not just for me, either…for everyone I know, too, as life seems quite difficult for just about everyone right now.

Written by Barb Caffrey

November 23, 2025 at 3:57 am

Tom Brady Cloned His Favorite Dog, and I Have Thoughts…

with 2 comments

Folks, I’ve been wrestling with this issue for several days (in addition to trying to get rid of the most recent sinus infection, doing my best to make some progress in other areas, looking for apartments, etc.), and finally figured out now is the right time to start discussing it.

Tom Brady found a company that would clone his favorite dog, named Lua, partly because he’s got a lot of money, and partly because he adored his late dog. From what I’ve read, the company that did the cloning (Colossal Biosciences) did so starting from a blood sample from Lua taken before she passed. His new dog, Junie, is a clone of Lua. (Note that Brady is an investor in this company, too.)

But here’s the thing about clones: If you can’t duplicate the exact same nurturing environment, you probably won’t get the same personality as your former animal. They have the same DNA, yes, but just as identical twin human children can have radically different personalities, so can dogs, cats, parakeets, or in one case, a rare white bull.

(I don’t know for sure that parakeets have been cloned yet, but it appears that both dogs and cats have been. The white bull that was cloned turned out to be far meaner and much less friendly than the original bull, which disappointed the farmer who’d cloned him. But I digress.)

Even if you do duplicate the exact, same nurturing environment, there are still other factors that can play into personalities. There are so many different factors that go into making a person who they are, which also goes for every other animal on Earth. That’s why identical twins can have radically different personalities, even if raised by the same family. Nurture, nature, the type of environment…all of it matters, as do so many other factors that defy description.

But back to Brady’s dog for the moment.

Bluntly, a genetic duplicate is not the same dog. While it is an exact copy of the original, Junie can’t be Lua, just as Lua couldn’t be Junie. That’s why the owner of the white bull was disappointed in part; he wanted his original bull cloned because he was exceptionally mild-mannered and gentle. However, as I said earlier, the clone of that bull was meaner, very difficult to handle, and nothing like his progenitor.

Such situations have been raised by science fiction authors in the past, mind you. The one I’m the most familiar with is Lois McMaster Bujold’s cloned character Mark Vorkosigan, a younger clone of his brother, Miles. Mark had many things inflicted on him to make him an exact physical duplicate of Miles that didn’t need to happen (read the books BROTHERS IN ARMS and MIRROR DANCE for more information on that), as Miles was damaged in utero due to a failed assassination attempt on his parents, and that obviously didn’t happen to Mark. So, the original, Miles, was only four feet, nine inches because of what happened to him, whereas Mark was biologically retrofitted to look like Miles, but had far heavier bones and would’ve most likely been close to six feet tall (if not over it) had the awful people who illegally cloned him left him alone. (The torturous things done to Mark, if thought about too much, will make anyone sick.)

So, Mark and Miles are facially identical. Their personalities are radically different. They both learn over time to function as true brothers, partly because their mother, Cordelia, was raised in a society that understands how to deal with clones legally, honestly, and completely aboveboard. (Cordelia knows Mark didn’t ask for any of this, which is one of the reasons I love Cordelia so much as a character. But again, I digress.) Mark is quite a bit heavier than Miles is, again because he was not damaged in utero, and Mark learns to use his heavier frame (he frankly says he’s obese, for whatever it’s worth, whereas Miles is skinny and often looks emaciated due to various health woes) to his own advantage.

It’s because I know all of this is as true as Lois McMaster Bujold, a writer who has a strong grounding in science, could make it that I question Tom Brady’s reasoning here. It’s wonderful that he wanted Lua to somehow live on in a successor. But Junie is not Lua, and will not behave like Lua no matter what he wants unless he gets very, very lucky. (Think again about the farmer with his cloned white bull if you don’t believe me.)

We’ve known cloning animals is possible since Dolly the sheep got cloned in 1996. Sheep don’t show as obvious of personalities as a lot of animals (though they do have them), which may be why Dolly’s personality was never called into question. At that point, geneticists were happy to have finally cloned a sheep from an adult cell (as some other sheep had been cloned in a different way back in 1984), and as Dolly the clone was mild-mannered (as most sheep tend to be), that factor was not discussed much in media accounts.

What all of this amounts to, mind you, whether you’re talking about Junie, clone of Tom Brady’s beloved dog Lua, or the fictional Mark Vorkosigan, clone of Miles Vorkosigan, is that a genetic copy — a clone — may be identical from a genetic perspective, but it’s not going to be identical in every other way unless every other factor the original had been exposed to (or had happen to them) was replicated in full. Even then, it’s still unlikely, but theoretically possible, that you’ll get a dog or bull or parakeet or whatever that acts exactly like the original/originator.

Going back to Mark Vorkosigan’s story, he had some personality traits that were just like his progenitor’s, including high intelligence, adaptability, and being able to immerse himself in a role if need be. But he was far surlier, especially at first, as life dealt him a very bad hand (the retrofitting surgeries to cut him down from the height he should’ve had to the height Miles attained due to the damage in utero were nightmarish and horrific). Mark didn’t trust easily, to say the least, and he didn’t know why anyone would want to ever do anything nice for him. (Learning exactly who he is, and who he isn’t, is the main thrust of the novel MIRROR DANCE, which I highly recommend you read.) Over time, Mark becomes a financier and philanthropist (self-made), whereas Miles pursues the military and then later becomes an Imperial Auditor (using all of his skills for the best to solve various problems, roughly). Miles couldn’t do what Mark does, while Mark not only can’t do what Miles does, he has no interest in doing it either.

That’s because they’re both people. They can’t expect to be the same. They know they aren’t no matter how identical their DNA happens to be. Different experiences, different approaches to problems…which is very human and understandable.

Anyway, Tom Brady spent fifty thousand dollars to clone Lua. He got Junie out of it. I hope Junie will be a wonderful family pet, but I also hope that Brady and his family will realize Junie is not Lua, can never be Lua, doesn’t have Lua’s memories or experiences…only has Lua’s DNA, and as Junie matures more every year, her own personality and her own memories and her own experiences will shine through.

The upshot is, while I understand and sympathize with any pet lover who wants their beloved animal back, I think it’s better to go get an animal from the local shelter and adopt that animal than it is to clone your dog. You know full well that the new-to-you dog is not going to react in the same way as any of your other dogs, and you won’t be thrown off by how similar the cloned dog looks to the old…nor by behavior that you probably never saw out of your old dog either. The chance of confusion at how the cloned dog looks just like the old (but doesn’t act just like it) won’t apply, either, as you’ll be able to get to know your dog over time just as your dog is — warts and all, knocking the garbage over and all, chewing up shoes and all, and whatever other mischief the dog can come up with along with its more loveable cuddles, snuggles, and companionable walks.

So, what do you think about Tom Brady’s cloned dog? Or the thought of cloning in general? I’m interested to hear your thoughts.

A Quick Update

leave a comment »

Hey, everyone. Sorry it’s taken me a while to get up a new blog, but I’ve been quite vexed with the housing search. When I was younger — at my first undergraduate school — it took about a month to find a place when nearly everything else was rented. But this search has gone way beyond that, especially as I started it in August…it’s well over three months, and I have yet to find a place to live that I can afford.

That said, I’ve also been battling my usual fall maladies of chronic sinus infections, general malaise, fibromyalgia flares/back problems, and of course the chronic depression I deal with daily. Being able to create helps me fight against all of that. But being in this situation works against being creative, as most of my energy is going toward either survival or finding a new place.

That said, for the moment I am still safe and staying with a family member. Later this month, if I still do not have a place, though, I’m not sure what will happen as the apartment complex here isn’t happy that I’ve been here so long without paying any rent to them. So this is the last month I can do that, though it may be possible for me to “reset the clock” by going to a hotel for a day or two. (Any longer than that, I can’t afford.)

As far as writing goes, I’ve been mostly stalled for all the reasons I gave above. As far as editing goes, I’m finally almost done with a lengthy edit — quite intense, lots of comments to make, and because it’s the last in a series, I have to make sure everything stays in good order. (This means I look stuff up. Nothing wrong with that. But any writer or editor worth anything will tell you what I’m saying right now: the work goes far more slowly if you’re having to do lots of cross-checks with previous books.) I believe I’ve done that, and it’s now just down to the final few things before it goes off to my client.

I am doing my best, in other words. Sometimes I get quite frustrated. (Actually, most of the time.) This is not what I’d hoped for, and not what my father wanted for me, and definitely not what anyone who knows me now and is still alive (including my family) wants either. Yet it’s where I am, and all I can do is my best with the circumstances I’ve got and go from there.

Tomorrow is Veteran’s Day in the US, as probably most of you know. My father was a Navy veteran, as was my late husband, Michael. I have cousins who’ve served, and many friends, along with an ex-husband (he was in the Army, back in the day). I respect people greatly who have served their country, and I appreciate what they’ve done to make this country a better place.

There’s still lots of upheaval going on around me because of governmental issues and strains, too. Everything seems to be in flux, not just me and my living situation.

I wonder sometimes if I am in the wrong place, doing the wrong things, and that I am so far off the track meant for my life (which was to be a college music teacher and performer before my poor health and finances got in the way), there’s no way for me to find my way back.

That said, I’ve done what I thought was best. I’ve helped people as I’m able and will continue to do that as long as I live. I’ve taught myself editing, and am good at it. I write, and always will write, whatever suits me: nonfiction, poetry, fiction, you name it, I can write it and probably have. I’ve used my musical talents in ways I hadn’t expected, but they have been used…and if my health gets any better, perhaps I’ll be able to use them again. (I’d still like to visit France and/or Spain someday, as that’s where classical alto saxophonists are most appreciated.)

So, while I’m battling depression, as I said before, I am still alive. So long as I’m alive, there’s at least some hope for better. I am looking for that hope, while also doing what I can to find my own, independent place to live. (It’s easier to help others when you have a place that’s truly yours where you can retreat to, as needed. A sanctum santorum, in other words. I haven’t had that now in any way, shape, or form for over three months.)

I battle the thought that I’ve failed (all of my novels right now need to be republished, as the rights have reverted back to me and are no longer for sale; unfortunately that’s on the back burner unless/until I can find a place of my own). I battle the thought that Michael might be unhappy with me (though really, I can’t see why he would be; he always thought I was too hard on myself, and this is probably just another of those times). I battle the thought that my maturity and experience may not matter in a world filled with so much automation and the flirtations with AI. I also battle my health, as anyone who’s spent any time here knows…but all I can do is my best.

This is my mantra right now: All I can do is my best.

Maybe that’s how it is always for everyone. But this sense of it being crisis city all the time is hard to live with, and I hope it’ll be alleviated soon. (No disrespect to my family member who took me in, either. That was not easy and I appreciate it greatly. It’s just that I am frustrated with this…and really do need a sanctum santorum of my own for creative reasons.)

So, that’s the update, such as it is.

How are you all doing? (Hopefully better than I am, but at least if you’re alive and kicking, that counts.) Do let me know, if you’re able…I would appreciate it greatly.

Written by Barb Caffrey

November 10, 2025 at 11:44 am

No Housing News Yet…But Milwaukee Brewers Continuing to Thrive

leave a comment »

Folks, I knew I owed you all some sort of update regarding my housing situation. I wish I had a better one. I’m still looking for a place and remain on quite a few waiting lists. I am moving up on those lists, but not quickly enough.

I’m still staying with a relative. This is not an easy situation for either one of us. I appreciate the help, though I wish I didn’t need it, and every day is a struggle.

One of the few bright spots I’ve had to consider has been the overall play of the 2025 version of the Milwaukee Brewers. Last year, in the MLB playoffs, the Brewers were eliminated in the first round at the very last minute by the New York Mets (a late homer by Pete Alonso, a slugging first baseman/superstar, off our star closer, Devin Williams, was what caused the Brewers to be eliminated). So this year, in order to have a better playoff chance, the team set a new record for wins with 97 and had the best overall record in the entirety of MLB. This guaranteed the Brewers would have more home games than road games in the playoffs, and also guaranteed a first-round bye so the team could heal up a little.

What’s been so outstanding about the play of the 2025 Brewers is how everyone called to help has stepped up. There was an outfielder called up during the summer, Steward Berroa, who made a great highlight-reel catch in centerfield to save one game, and he was only up a few days with the Brewers. Other standouts were the pitching of Chad Patrick, shuttling back and forth from Triple-A to the big-league club, the pitching of Logan Henderson (who showed without a doubt that he’s a big-leaguer, but was not able to stick in the bigs due to too many people ahead of him at the position), the fact that good players like Blake Perkins and Robert Gasser were able to heal from injuries and come back to contribute…no matter what, the Brewers found a way to win.

And they even turned one odd situation into an advantage, in that pitcher Aaron Civale did not want to be a reliever even on a team that could well win the World Series. He felt he would not make enough money next year if he became a reliever, so the Brewers had to find a trade partner in a hurry. They did. The Chicago White Sox had a struggling first baseman named Andrew Vaughn, who they’d sent to Triple-A over his lack of productivity at the plate. The Brewers swapped Civale for Vaughn, and that was one of the turning points for the Brewers as Vaughn (after an injury to starting first baseman Rhys Hoskins) stepped up in a big way for the Brewers and became not just a star with the team, but a fan favorite.

There’s no quit in the 2025 Brewers. They just keep going. They’re relentless. Their manager, Pat Murphy, has described them as “woodpeckers,” which seems accurate as they just keep pecking away. They are a resilient and determined team, they get along well with each other (always a plus), and they’ve just found a way to keep getting better all season long.

Right now, they are preparing for Game 4 against the Chicago Cubs in Chicago. The Brewers lead this series, two games to one. (The Brew Crew lost last night to Chicago, 4-3.) And they’ll have their very best starting pitcher, their ace, Freddy Peralta, pitching tonight.

No major reporter for MLB picked the Brewers to be as good as they turned out to be. (Most had the Brewers finishing in fourth place, and not even winning more games than they lost. They were quite wrong.) Even now, the Brewers are not expected to beat teams they handily beat all season long if they continue in the playoffs (I’m looking squarely at you, Los Angeles Dodgers), and they’re certainly not expected by the major media outlets to be the National League’s entrant in the World Series.

I hope they will be, though. I like this team a lot. It reminds me of my favorite-ever team, the 1982 Brewers (then in the American League), which was another team that just did not quit and kept going no matter what. The ’82 team is the only one that has ever reached the World Series, and it did not win (though it did take seven games to eliminate the Brewers and end their season without the WS win). It’s about time a new Brewers team gets a chance to win a World Series…and the 2025 team is in an excellent position to do just that, providing they can get by the Cubs and whoever else they might have to play in the next round (the NL Championship Series, or NLCS) — right now, it would appear that team is likely to be the Dodgers, but it could still be the Phillies if the Phillies scramble and are able to win three games in a row (they won one game last night; two to go).

This team, like the ’82 Brewers, gives me hope that if you try hard enough, and you maximize your talents, and if you get some lucky breaks, you can still do very well for yourself. (The Brewers had a fourteen-game winning streak after an eleven-game winning streak earlier, and an eight-game winning streak as well. To win fourteen games in a row meant there were some good breaks happening; that’s when the phrases “Uecker Magic” to commemorate late baseball announcer and friend of the Brewers team Bob Uecker, and “Brewers Magic/Milwaukee Magic” were coined.) Mind you, that doesn’t mean you can take your eye off the ball. You have to keep doing your best, even when it seems hopeless, even when it seems like there’s no way you can win…you can only lose if you give up inside your head, and I refuse to do that.

So, I will cheer on my Brewers tonight as they take on the Cubs in Chicago. I’ll also keep trying to find a good place to live, one that I can afford, that has heat in the winter and air in the summer, in order to improve my overall physical health and give me the best chance to write, edit, and compose music.

21 Years (Yes, 21) Without Michael

with 6 comments

Folks, about a week ago, I observed the title milestone, one I wish I’d never have had to face.

There’s this weird thing about numbers, you see. They can really freak you out. I remember September 21, 2011, as that was the seventh year since Michael died. Supposedly, all the cells in your body are replaced within seven years. I didn’t like that milestone either.

Others I haven’t liked included in that same year the day I turned a day older than Michael was when he died (no, I’m not going to mention which day) and of course the day my best friend, Jeff Wilson, died in November.

So, the sad milestones (“sadaversaries” in my parlance, a contraction of sad and anniversaries) have kept piling up. Ten years without Michael on September 21, 2014. Twenty years without him, last year. And twenty-one years without him this year…it’s something we do, as human beings, to both mark the passage of time and the people who shaped us and meant the most to us. It must not be too surprising that I always know exactly how long it’s been without my beloved husband. But it’s still difficult, challenging, and frustrating.

The reason twenty-one years is significant has to do with something I once heard about learning music and other skills. If you have the talent and you put in the work, it supposedly takes twenty-one years to be adept in any given discipline.

How does that apply, though? Does that mean I’m adept at grieving now?

I don’t know. I wish I did.

There’s a lot of people I miss in this life. My grandma. My father. My aunt Laurice and uncle Carl. Jeff Wilson. Those are all huge losses, and I will remember them all until the end of my life.

But nothing and no one has ever been more important to me than my late husband. Michael understood me and I understood him. We fit in every possible way, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. We had amazing, wide-ranging conversations, we were both creative (in addition to his writing, he was a great cook and an excellent artist), we both wanted most of the same things — stability, honesty, a deep and abiding commitment to one another, and to be together as long as we possibly could.

We did get almost three years from the time I met him, and two years, two months, and twenty-eight days of marriage. After so much loss, so much sadness, it seemed absolutely miraculous to meet Michael, and I know he felt the same way about me.

I’m still struggling with trying to find a new place to live. I’m also struggling with many other things at the moment, none of them particularly pleasant. But it does help me to know that Michael always believed in me, and he thought no matter how long it took, I would always find a way through any problem.

In short, I’d always survive.

When he was alive, of course, it would’ve been “survive and thrive.” But right now, survival is what I need to cling to, along with the belief that I can, will, and must get out of the current situation and into a better one.

Michael would tell me, if he could, that I have not failed. Not as a writer, as a musician, as a scholar, as a wife, or even as a widow. That I have not failed. So long as I keep trying, so long as there’s even a breath remaining in my body, I have not failed.

I’m trying to keep that thought in the top of my mind, these days, as the struggle continues.

Reflections Regarding Lois McMaster Bujold’s “Paladin of Souls”

leave a comment »

As I continue to look for a place to live, I’ve pondered many things. But the one thing I kept coming back to, the one book in this case, was Lois McMaster Bujold’s excellent fantasy novel, PALADIN OF SOULS.

You might be wondering why. I know I did, when I could not get this book out of my mind…but now, I believe I have at least some idea of why this book is resonating so much with me at the moment.

The protagonist, Ista, is a widow. Just like I am. She’s in midlife, which also is just like me…of course, Ista is the Dowager Royina (read: Queen) of Chalion, which isn’t like me at all. But Ista feels stifled. She feels like there’s just no point in the life she’s leading, though she’s not sure how to break away and do her own thing. She’s also not exactly sure what “her own thing” might be, as she’s been widowed for quite a few years (around twenty, I think); for much of that time, Ista was seen as stark, raving bonkers even though she wasn’t.

(To go into all the reasons why people thought Ista was crazy, you need to read the prequel to this book, THE CURSE OF CHALION. It’s also an excellent novel.)

So, Ista is always watched and is frequently misunderstood. (I completely empathize with her in this. Women in midlife being misunderstood, much less widowed women, is something nearly all women in midlife can identify with, even if we can’t necessarily identify with always being watched.) But she is as sober, and sane, as any judge, and finally figures out a way to break out of her genteel captivity: she’ll say she’s going on a pilgrimage, and what other people assume (mostly they think Ista is praying for a healthy son delivered from her daughter Iselle, the current Royina and co-monarch of both Chalion and Ibra, but Ista thinks praying for anything except health for her daughter and any baby regardless of gender is stupid) is up to the other people.

Also, I have to mention this: Ista is not the easiest person to like at the beginning of this book. She is bitter, but for very good reasons. Her late husband did not treat her very well, and that has never been fully faced by anyone, much less Ista. (Her late husband was older than Ista, but that wasn’t the major problem. What that problem happened to be was that her late husband the Roya was in love with his top-ranked courtier, so Ista was always going to come last in that love triangle. Not that she had anything to do with the courtier other than tolerate his presence.) She’s been kind of an afterthought for a while; yes, she’s the mother of the current co-monarch (most Royinas do not rule, but Iselle certainly does with her husband Bergon of Ibra), but her own life has taken a backseat to her motherhood. And Ista has gifts of her own, which need to be used…thus the pilgrimage.

As I don’t want to spoil things too much for you if you haven’t read PALADIN OF SOULS yet, I’m going to skirt a lot of the details. I will say that Ista, as she grows and starts leaning into her talents rather than being denied them (as these talents make her seem crazy to non-cognoscenti), becomes a deeper, richer, and spiritual person. And if she’s very careful, she just might find love unlooked for with the right man at the right time, providing they can get through a whole lot of difficulties first.

Then again, love usually has to be fought for in some fashion, otherwise it doesn’t mean a whole lot.

In my life, I know for sure that Michael and I fought to be together. We were long distance, me in Iowa, he in San Francisco, for most of our courtship. Neither of us had much money, so how we got to be together lay in my mother receiving an unexpected windfall. She knew Michael was important to me, even though she’d not met him yet, and so she sent him that money.

Michael’s own mother, on the other hand, did not want him to leave San Francisco. She thought him taking a chance on me, a woman who was divorced twice by the age of thirty-six, was dumb even though he, too, was divorced (albeit just once).

Of course, she was wrong in this. Michael told her so, and he was right to do so. (Now that they’re both on the Other Side, I hope they have reconciled, but really, that reconciliation needed to start with her.) Michael knew everything about me; best of all, he loved the parts of me I couldn’t even like (but needed in order to be the person I was and am today).

This is what love is, when you’re mature enough to understand it. That understanding, that deep caring, that appreciation of everything you are — even the stuff you can’t stand about yourself — is what is needed to form a lasting marital partnership. And, like Ista in PALADIN OF SOULS, I found along the way that I had more gifts than I’d realized at first.

See, all of that is needed for a great emotional and physical connection. How can you make love to someone else if you don’t know them fully? If you don’t want to know them fully?

Ista says in one place that she’s late to discover herself. (This is me eliding a few things, for those who have read PALADIN OF SOULS. Still trying hard not to spoil it for new readers.) I think a lot of women in midlife — Hell, a lot of men, too — come to realize this, partly because they now have lived several decades and know themselves and the world at large far better than before.

At any rate, if you are in the right relationship, it should be mature, deep, with much mutual appreciation…and yes, you should have a wonderful and rich love life, too. (If you don’t have that, and it’s not because your partner is completely unable for some reason, you’re probably in the wrong relationship. But I digress.) You should feel understood, valued, and appreciated for who you are. You shouldn’t ever have to apologize for being yourself, or for loving your spouse/partner; if you find yourself doing that, again, you probably are in the wrong relationship.

What Ista finds out through her adventures is very simple, but also very profound: Life means more when you know yourself. You can do more with your life once you know your talents and gifts, no matter how unusual they may be to your particular culture and belief system. And only by fully realizing who we are and acting on our talents can we be open enough to embrace a new love relationship despite whatever hardships you had to deal with in the past.

I think the reason I can at least consider having another relationship (if it ever happens) is because Michael was a wonderful, caring, and considerate husband. In every way — mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual — he and I were a match. (One of the ministers I’ve talked to since Michael died told me he thought Michael and I knew each other before we were born, and were supposed to be with one another all along. I told the minister that I wish I’d have known where Michael was, as I’d have gone out to San Francisco by the age of twenty if not sooner to find him. But I also knew that one of the reasons he and I took to each other so quickly is because we’d lived life and knew what we wanted along with what we didn’t want and couldn’t tolerate in a marriage. Maturity was part of what was needed for the two of us to get along like a house on fire, in other words.)

Right now, I’m only eight days from passing the saddest anniversary of all: the day Michael died. Even though I believe firmly that the spirit is eternal, and that Michael in some ways never left me at all (as the two of us did become one, and as long as I’m alive, at least part of him is, too), it’s tough not to be able to get a hug from him. Or a kiss. Or anything else, especially during tough times like what I’m dealing with right now.

Knowing you are loved helps to get through the bad times. It also helps you believe that better days are possible. But getting to those better days is a struggle, especially when you seem to be in a position where you can do little to affect your own outcome.

None of us widows and/or widowers have chosen to be in this particular state. All of us who had loving spouses want our husbands and wives back. We don’t like having to walk alone, even though the memories of that love help to sustain and nurture us so we can at least make the attempt to do the walking.

Anyway, along with Katharine Eliska Kimbriel’s three books in the Night Calls series, I’ve added PALADIN OF SOULS to the frequently re-read pile. I find more and more stuff in there that feels extremely true to life, and like Allie in Ms. Kimbriel’s books, Ista is a heroine worth remembering and appreciating.

Moved Out of Dad’s House…But No Apartment Yet

with 4 comments

The last week was very hectic, and not in a good way. I said goodbye to my father’s home, the place I was raised along with my sibs; that was not fun, not pleasant, and was quite frustrating, besides.

I did have some help to get out of Dad’s house, mind. My good friend Lika and her husband and son helped me greatly. (Note that all four of us have significant physical limitations, but we did our best to work around them.) My sister and niece helped the day before the move-out, doing their best to consolidate and remove clutter (along with getting all of my clothes into one place; that’s a handy thing, and I appreciated it). Lika was able to find several things in my bedroom that had eluded me for months, for which I thanked her profusely.

But leaving was still tough.

See, the first thing I had to do the day of the move (which was last Sunday, BTW) was to rent a U-haul truck. I had no trouble renting it, but a great deal of trouble actually getting up into the truck (as it was not a low-rise type of truck, anyone who attempts to get in there has to have better knees than I do). At first, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Then my friend Lika came to the rescue, and she drove the truck (which was fine with the U-haul people) while I drove her car back to Dad’s house.

So, one obstacle down. A whole bunch to go…

At any rate, we loaded the U-haul with as much stuff as we could find. Some stuff still got left, including many of my books and some of my sheet music (probably most of it, but as it had mildewed in the basement over the years, it would’ve had to be thrown out anyway). But as far as I know, I got out all of the music I’ve written over the past twenty-plus years, all of my clothes, and at least some household things like chairs and my bed.

We took it to the storage place I’d picked out, and unloaded it. (Actually, I mostly watched Lika and her family do this. They knew I was struggling mightily by that time.) Then we went out to eat at George Webb’s (as they’re open 24 hours), and they went home as it had been a very, very long day.

I couldn’t get everything, though. Food was left behind (mostly canned food and yogurt). There was just no room for it in my car. In addition, all the pots and pans were left, as were silverware, plates, cups…I did manage to get out the microwave, the mini-fridge, the slow-cooker, and the blender.

Because I was quite tired, too, it took me seven hours to find nooks and crannies in my car in order to take as much stuff as I could. (Lika had already taken my musical instruments with my permission, as I felt they were safer with her than with me under the circumstances.) I had a few panic attacks, and at least one of them was so bad, I thought at first I was having a true, honest-to-Goddess heart attack.

Eventually, I left Dad’s house, after saying my final goodbyes, and wishing it well during the renovation phase. It was a good house for my family, and I will miss it.

Then I had to deal with the next obstacle, which was driving a fully-loaded car on a very sunny day. I’m not normally driving at that hour, much less with so much stuff in the car. It was a struggle to keep going, as I was so tired, I had to repeat like a mantra, “Stay in your lane. Hold your lane. Hold your speed,” over and over.

I’ve never done that before and hope to never have to do it again. But concentrating on that worked, and I drove safely without issues. (Score one for the good guys. Or the good girl. Or whatever.)

But as the title says, I have yet to find a new place to live. I am on quite a few waiting lists, and I have hopes one of them will have room soon.

For now, though, I’m staying with family. This is not a long-term solution, but it gives me time to rest and recuperate. I need that time, as moving took a great deal out of me.

This reminds me of something Michael, my late husband, said. After we’d moved into our new apartment in Iowa, which was hard on both of us as both of us walked with canes (we had no help), he said that he could not face another move. He just did not feel like he was up to it. He was right, though in this case, I think he’d have rather been wrong as him “not moving again” happened because his body gave out.

This might’ve been why I had the bad panic attacks. It also might’ve been why I wondered, again, how I’ve made it almost twenty-one years without the love of my life, and thought such self-defeating things as, “Your music won’t matter. Goodness alone knows, your books certainly haven’t sold much. Maybe you’re fated to live in obscurity the rest of your life.”

All of that may be true, though I hope it isn’t. Still, I have to do what I believe is right. I’m doing that.

And if my works never matter to the world as a whole, I just have to remind myself that out of all the creative sorts who’ve ever lived, we only know a fraction of their names, much less what they did. That does not make what they did bad, wrong, or insignificant.

Anyway, the move was stressful, difficult, painful (you don’t want to know how much I hurt after all that), and frustrating. But I’d like to think something good can come from it, somehow…even if I don’t yet know what that “something good” will be.

Written by Barb Caffrey

September 6, 2025 at 2:38 am

Housing Search Continues

with 3 comments

Folks, I know I’ve been a bad correspondent lately. But there’s a reason for that.

As I said a few months ago, I knew that my father’s house would be sold soon. As I’d stayed at this house for several years before he passed and continued after, it’s a big change to be looking for a new apartment. Mostly, it’s a welcome thing, because if I’ve proven one thing in the last two years since Dad died, I am not capable of taking care of lawn maintenance or snow shoveling or weeding or any of that.

Mind you, if I didn’t need a cane to walk with, and if I were more flexible, I possibly could’ve done some weeding or something with flowerbeds or whatnot. But shoveling snow, using a snow blower…just out. And using a lawn mower, or shears to cut back hedges…that’s a non-starter, too.

I have had great neighbors, here at Dad’s house. They have consistently bailed me out by shoveling the walks and the driveway, mowing the grass, cutting back the weeds…really, these are kind people, and I will miss them when I’m out of Dad’s house (as I will be in a few weeks).

Now, as I hadn’t blogged about it yet, you may be wondering why I said “housing search continues.” That’s because I’ve been discussing it at Facebook on my personal page, trying to give updates every day or two as to what I’m doing to find a new place.

Mostly, I’ve had some help in finding apartment waitlists that I hadn’t known about, and I found out today from the housing counselor (that’s what I’m calling him as he’s been enormously helpful) that because Michael was a Navy veteran with an honorable discharge, there may be a few more places available to me as his widow.

Still, there are two songs that keep rolling through my head. The first is Three Days Grace’s “Mayday,” which has lyrics like “the more you know you know you know nothing” (yes, they repeat “you know” three times in a row) and “it’s hard to keep fighting, when you’re barely surviving.” (The reason it’s called Mayday is because the group is talking about people who are in extremis that feel like everything they’re doing makes no sense. Yet they keep doing it, even if they “walk like dead people who haven’t died yet,” and even if they’re “going down, but not today. We’ll never say Mayday!”) The second is from the Architects and is called “Everything Ends.” (I think that is enough explanation for one day.)

The thing is, while everything does end, we often have to end something in order to begin something else. Many times, we have to get through a whole lot of stuff that makes us want to yell “Mayday!” and get help before we can get to anything good. And sometimes, it’s hard to remember there are good things out there still waiting, or good people also, because so much has happened that you can barely take it in.

I miss my Dad a lot, more than I’d expected (and I had expected to miss him greatly, so that says something). But to honor Dad’s memory, I have to try to get through this move — one of the seven great stressors even for a healthy, fully ambulatory person (sans cane) — and hope I do find the right place for me to settle in for a while.

Then, I can get back to writing more, editing more, and hopefully enjoying life a little more, too.

Anyway, I will try to write a blog next week or whenever I have some good news to share on the housing front. Either way, I will keep watching the Brewers (go Brewers!), doing what I can to help my Mom so long as my body will allow it, and continue to pack stuff up as best I can.

Wish me luck with this, hey?

Written by Barb Caffrey

August 21, 2025 at 7:34 pm

Recent Heckling of MLB’s Ketel Marte Troubling

leave a comment »

Folks, most of you who’ve read this blog for any length of time know I’m a baseball fan. And while my favorite team is the Milwaukee Brewers (always has been), my heart goes out to players who’ve suffered from life.

Take the Arizona Diamondbacks second baseman Ketel Marte, for example. Most people wouldn’t know he’s suffered loss, as he often smiles, laughs, and jokes around on the field…but recently, a fan heckled him in Chicago and it upset him dearly.

While I don’t know exactly what was said, Marte’s mother was invoked. It was apparently far beyond a “your Mama wears combat boots” type of insult, which most MLB players have heard since their days in Little League. My guess is it went like this: “It’s a good thing your mother’s already dead, considering what you just did.”

That’s wrong. It shouldn’t have happened.

See, Marte’s mother died in 2017. He still grieves for her. She died in a car accident, which means it was a sudden and completely unexpected death.

Marte is now thirty-one years old. He’s still a young man. But most of his success in major league baseball has come after the death of his mother, and that’s been very hard on him.

Maybe some of you are thinking, “He’s making big money. Why should I care?”

You should care because you’re a human being and you’ve likely suffered loss yourself.

I know that I understand how he feels. If someone heckled me about my late husband, I’d be first livid and then later very sad. It’s hard to stay above such personal insults. It hits you on a raw spot, even years later.

As for the unnamed fan, he’s been indefinitely banned by not just the White Sox, but by the entirety of MLB.

Baseball players are human beings. Their careers are often quite short. The money they make seems nice on its face, but there are a lot of trade-offs that come with that money, including constant travel, the potential for serious injury, the loss of time with their families, and much more. It’s not a job most people would want if they considered all the downsides, including possible interactions like with this dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks fan.

Most baseball fans have reacted the way I have, whether they’ve lost someone close to them or not. They know that insults like that are not acceptable and cannot be tolerated by civilized human beings.

I really wish everyone would try to remember that we only get this one life to live. We should approach people with dignity and respect as much as possible.

So if you’re going to yell insults at a baseball player or other athlete, stick with how they’re playing. Leave the parents, spouses, children, etc., out of it.

But better yet, don’t heckle at all. Life is too short for that.

Way Too Hot, Way Too Humid…and My Thoughts Regarding the Recent MN Assassinations and Assassination Attempts

with 10 comments

The weather here in Southeastern Wisconsin is bad. It’s been hot, humid, and nasty for the past several days…this on top of the previous few weeks of marginal to outright bad air quality (this for everyone, not just asthmatics like me).

Otherwise, I’ve been thinking about a lot of things. The shootings of the Minnesota lawmakers — the assassinations of one and her husband (Melissa and Mark Hortman), and the attempted assassinations of another and his wife (John Hoffman and his wife Yvette Hoffman) — have dwelled upon my mind. It is deeply upsetting that there are people in this country who do such awful things.

I’ve been saying this for years, mind, over the various terrible things that have happened. Not all of it has happened to politicians. Sometimes police have been shot (such as at a grocery store in Colorado) and killed while doing their jobs. (Indeed, there were police who were trying to keep order on January 6th, 2021, who got badly hurt. A few later died and there were at least ten who had significant injuries that caused them to retire early from the police force. Look up Michael Fanone’s name to find out what happened to him, that day.) There have been school kids killed for what seems like no reason whatsoever (Sandy Hook, Columbine, Uvalde).

I don’t know what the answers are to stop these things, especially as what tends to work in other countries does not work well in the United States. (Such as controlling the flow of automatic weapons. Note I didn’t say all weapons. The Second Amendment to the Constitution assuredly believed people should keep some weapons, though at the time it was written, gunsmithing was not very far along and automatic weaponry and semiautomatic weapons were not even a glimmer in a creator’s eye.)

But one thing I do know is, staying silent doesn’t work.

I condemn all of these various things that I’ve discussed. I have condemned them many times on my blog with other, awful things that have happened (including the attempted assassination of Rep. Gabrielle Giffords, D-AZ). And I most definitely condemn the assassination of the Hortmans and the attempted assassinations of the Hoffmans. I think if you believe in the Bible, as the shooter who assassinated the Hortmans and nearly managed to kill the Hoffmans supposedly did, that you need to look at the Ten Commandments again.

One of them is, “Thou shalt not kill.” Sometimes that is translated as “Thou shalt not murder.”

The shooter’s part-time roommate (I am not naming the shooter as I never do here at my blog) said in several places that he knew his roommate the shooter wasn’t happy with politicians. But the roommate also said that doing something like this is flat-out crazy. He never suspected the shooter. Pointed out that both he (the roommate) and the shooter had voted for Trump (there was a conspiracy theory going around saying that it was a leftwing activist who went after the Hortmans and Hoffmans for “not being left enough,” but that’s not the case).

I say this to point out that it’s more important to follow Jesus’s proposed eleventh commandment, that being “Love one another as I have loved you.”

I also want you to think about this: If Jesus were here now, who do you think he’d be helping? The homeless on the street, or the billionaires jetting from island to island? Would he be more likely to help the poor Mary Magdalenes of this world (i.e., prostitutes) or would he help those who already have power consolidate it into their two hands and never let it go?

If you honestly think that Jesus, if he came to Earth today, would not try to help the homeless and would not try to help contemporary Mary Magdalenes, I don’t know what to say to you.

“But Barb,” you protest. “Why wouldn’t he want to help the billionaires be better people?”

I think Jesus would want to do that. But if time was limited — and being in a mortal body, time is always limited — he’d help those who obviously needed it first. The drunks. The indigent. The folks trying their best who can’t catch a break. The prostitutes, especially those who’ve been human trafficked.

I do think that current-day billionaires should look at two people to perhaps give them some sort of enlightenment. The first is Bill Gates, who has vowed to give away his entire fortune before he dies. The second is, of all people, Cornelius Vanderbilt, as Vanderbilt’s philanthropy was almost as legendary as his ability to make lots and lots of money.

But as it’s very unlikely any of them will read my blog, I’ll leave the rest of you with this:

Be your best self. Care about others. Pay attention, and do what you can to alleviate other people’s pain. If you can make a positive difference for someone, do it.

That, to my mind, is what any positive religious influence, whether it’s Jesus, Confucius, the Buddha, Joseph Smith, or Baha’ullah, has hoped for us to do.

Also, keep listening to the new Pope. He has his head on straight. (You don’t have to agree with him 100% of the time. I think it’s impossible to agree with anyone 100% of the time.)

For those of you who feel as I do, stuck in the Void and wondering if anything you do will ever matter all that much, keep holding a positive thought as best you can.

One day at a time. Sometimes, one hour at a time, or one minute at a time. Just do your best to help others, and “Love one another the way I loved you,” as Jesus said. (Or as the Wiccans say, “Do what you want so long as you harm none.”)

P.S. The Hoffmans look on their way to a full recovery. I am very glad about this.

P.P.S. In case there’s any doubt, I condemn all violence. As Jon Stewart said last week on the Daily Show (Monday’s edition), “I don’t give a flying **** as to why this man” (meaning the shooter in MN) “did what he did.” (And yes, he said the actual word. I try not to do that, as if I started typing expletives all the time I’d get nothing done. But I did sympathize with Stewart while he used his own.)

P.P.P.S. I also am quite upset that the Hortmans’ faithful dog, a Golden Retriever, was shot. The Hortman children had to make the decision to put the poor dog down. Melissa Hortman, former Democratic Speaker of Minnesota’s lower house, was known for walking her dog, rain or shine, several times a day. That an innocent, loving animal was killed — as he wouldn’t have had to be put down without that shooter doing those atrocious and reprehensible things — in addition to the Hortmans themselves just angers me on a visceral level that I can’t quite explain.