“True happiness is . . . to want what you have.” — Trudy Wells-Meyer
Coming to America
“We all harbor dreams of greatness; the size will be measured by our memories.” — Anonymous
At the airport in Kloten, Zürich, boarding a plane to London, from where I would travel to Southampton and embark on a German ship, the Bremen, for America, I hugged my father Adieu. He held me tighter than he ever had. His hug that day remains an unending feeling, and his words would linger in my ears. “Udi” — his nickname for me — “you will not come back.”
“Schgruna” (my nickname for dad), “I am just going for one year,” I whispered in his ear. I was crying now. A father knows. . ..
Reading this inspirational book, a memoir as an anthology, a collection of essays, poetry and prose, (with pictures in color to fit the stories, poems and prose) about the school of life, courage and adventure, trust in fate, joy, heartache, resilience and — love — may evoke feelings about what love is — can be — or, simply help someone to believe in love and trust. Stories and poems about a belief something extra ordinary is possible, — inspiration laced with love.
My Wisconsin-born husband Lew’s words: “This book reveals the key to happiness.”
I started writing late in life. I write in my second language. Swiss-born, I arrived in New York alone, speaking and understanding little English. I was 23.
I live in Scottsdale, AZ with my husband. I am a successful, award-winning, retired hair designer.
I cherish the gift of writing . . . a revelation of one’s personal reality. It feels like creating a world by the light of the mind and the heat of the heart finding music in words. Oh, and — poetry —, the impossible task of making the absent present, like photographing the invisible.
Poetry is the most precise form of expression that language has given me — when emotions find words.
Something Good about Everything
“For every setback, there is a comeback.” — Anonymous
I learned:
Walking — slipping on black ice — is more dangerous than skiing.
I learned:
Falling back in slow motion, one can hear the breaks, twice; sound of pain. Do not take loafers to ski country.
I learned:
How to get out of laundry-day: slip on ice, a pile of laundry scatters in snow.
I learned:
Help in Steamboat, Colorado arrives like a bullet train. Sirens, a melody in the snow, sounds of music when they are for you.
I learned:
People freak out beyond at your dislocated foot, on black ice, facing 90˚ west. Scissors are huge that cut your favorite jeans.
I learned:
Two sticks called crutches become your best friends, for 8½ weeks.
I learned:
How to move to escape pain, in solitude — not to explain patience in one word, adore my husband’s gentle kiss.
I learned:
Friends give new meaning to generosity, a marvelous discovery and disbelief.
I learned:
A daily confining bedroom turns into a spring garden.
I learned:
Hurt and pain — Break a leg — an attention-getter with its many faces.
I learned:
To find a rainbow in my clouds on a path I did not choose.
I learned:
To have time for a rare bird, a red-tailed hawk, on a snow-covered branch, my daily morning buddy; a messenger of peace.
I learned:
Fifteen stair-steps in our Colorado condo, a prison upstairs, with sunshine, no trips to the refrigerator cause your pants to fall off.
I learned:
To wash my hair on a stool with one leg hanging over the bathtub, glamour on vacation.
I learned:
How to cope with disappointment and smile as though I invented it.
I learned:
Promise of peace, receive communion on Sundays as Leah, a friend, brings God to my humble upstairs.
I learned:
New magic moments, listening for Lew’s steps, a tray of food fit for a queen.
I learned:
I have a husband, who for weeks did not, would not go skiing without me.
I learned:
To cry behind my hand at the wonder of a man who left his skis in paid storage, to take care of me, his invalid.
I learned:
Seeing stars beyond my sight; converted to optimism — time to write — healing is a matter of time but also opportunity.
I learned:
Be happy wherever you are; find the music in your life. When last did I receive a lollypop?
I learned:
To fly home on crutches; a wheelchair waiting at every airport.
I learned:
To enjoy spring from the kitchen window, on a blue lake in Arizona.
I learned:
Looking down with every step will keep you safe, knowing sunshine is above.
Writing has become my American life since the horrendous day — 9/11. I found the power of words. A trip to Rome Italy, that November, at the invitation of the Oblates Sisters, the French-speaking Boarding School in Châtel St. Denis, Switzerland I attended when I was 15. One highlight: an exceptional Audience with Pope John Paul II after He canonized Soeur Léonie Françoise de Sales Aviat, co-founder of the Oblate Sisters of Saint Francis de Sales, in Troyes, France. My first story, The Power of Prayer, is reality due to my parents pulling me out of public school in Tann; what drama to be away from home at a young age. One reader claims the story to be of rare storytelling — leads one to trust in fate and God.
“One does not choose the time to write . . . it chooses you.” — Trudy Wells-Meyer
There is life after hair.
The dynamics of my writing world include Stories and Poetry published in six Goose River Anthologies 2014 – 2020, available on Amazon or Goose River Press, Waldoboro Maine.
Loose Mousse Publishing, ABSOLOOSE volume 1 and 2, choice collections of poetry, and Living Springs Publishing, “Stories Through The Ages Baby Boomers Plus 2019.” (Interview by a reporter at the Local Arizona East Valley Tribune for the Sunday news edition.)
Winnings of Poetry and Writing contests and, my great love for Soccer the world calls Football: Articles published, in USA Today’s Sports section. Letters to FIFA, the ex-President Sepp Blatter (and his answers), involving changes to Soccer/Football rules, with many fans’ signatures from all over the world.
Go to my website if you would like to find out more about this author who is in awe of the power of words.
https://www.trudywells-meyer.com
