Becoming Mona Lisa (32 page)

Looking back, I don't think I've ever experienced such a memorable autumn. It was a time of great change, and change is good. Change is a bit of a gift, but some gifts are like the months-old fruitcake I used to get from Aunt Ida. Our gift was hundreds of crows, to which I owed a debt of gratitude. The troublesome birds taught us the importance of working together, and reminded us that two is better than one, especially when it comes to battling crows. Tom and I found ourselves and each other in the chaos, and some of life's most valuable lessons revealed themselves to us.

The lessons were good, and necessary, despite the horror we endured. We learned to live in the moment, even while surrounded by screeching birds. We discovered how anger's oppressive weight cheats each of us out of the best life has to offer, and with forgiveness comes the freedom to seize the many joys to which we are each entitled. We were reminded of the need for tolerance and understanding, and how it is by our differences that we are all connected.

Armed with these lessons, and an imagination that is often frightening, I began writing again. I entered the blogosphere with a journal titled,
The Greatest Treasures.
It wasn't about mining for gold, antiquing, or dangerous escapades with Nicholas Cage. It was about discovering the treasures inside ourselves through personal evolution. It was about becoming who we are, and who we'll be, one day at a time, as we make our way through this amazing thing called life.

I was becoming Mona Lisa, a treasure worthy of the name I'd been given, and this philosophy was the topic of my first blog.

The post went nearly viral, with six hits in twenty-four hours.

What could I say? It was a start.

My second post has never been uploaded. It read a bit like this:

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaadssssssgffffffffffffffjkl;lklkkkkknnnnnn

kkkkkiooooooooooomlkmmmmmmmmm

I saved it to my flash drive, where it will remain forever. It isn't every day a kitten writes a masterpiece.

My third post brought me closer to super stardom, with eight hits in only a few hours, but I cared little about readership, at least in the early days. I cared more about the writing, because it was there, in the creative solitude, where I felt most alive, and in my husband's arms, where I felt truly at home.

I found myself wrapped in Tom's embrace, in the Honeymoon Suite at The Sheraton, on a brisk weekend in mid December. We held each other in the dim lighting, in the ambiance created by tiny candles, each of which operated on a AAA battery.

Our rehabilitation included avoiding the use of fire.

After a quiet dinner from room service, for the low price of one kidney, Tom a
nd I exchanged gifts. He gave me roses, and a small package, which I opened first. It contained two CD's: Celine Dion and Bye Bye Birds.

“
In good times and in bad,” he said, and I forced myself not to cry.

“
When did it finally come?”

“
The day after the crows left.”

I chuckled at the irony and handed him a rectangular box. I held my breath as he removed the wrapping, cut from a single sheet of wallpaper that once adorned the bathroom wall.

“Is this....?” Tom asked.

“It is,” I said.

“How'd you get it?”

“I slipped Bathman and Robin an extra twenty bucks to leave one sheet intact.”

“You're amazing, Mona.”

“I know.”

The wallpaper was a tribute, a memento from a moment frozen in time, a reminder of the miracle we received when we took a courageous and timid step toward starting again.

Tom lifted the lid and pulled the object free. “I don't get it,” he said, and I sat on the edge of the bed.

“I think you do.”

He arched a brow, then smiled once he realized what he was holding. “Wow,” he whispered, as he sat beside me and took my hand. “You peed on a stick and gift wrapped it?”

“I did.” Two tears broke free and slid down my cheeks.

Tom brushed them away and folded me into his arms. “Mona Lisa Siggs, you are the craziest woman I've ever known, and I love you so much it hurts. Never change.”

“I won't.”

“You promise?”

“I do.”

“And while we're on the topic of promises, I want you to promise me you'll stay out of that secret room. No investigating until we can get to the bottom of what's going on down there. Especially now,” he said, placing his hand on my still-flat abdomen.

“It's exciting, isn't it?” I said, dodging the bullet.

“You didn't answer me,” Tom said.

“About?”

“The secret room.”

“Oh, that.”

“Promise me, Mona.”

“Okay.”

“Say the words.”

“I promise I'll stay out of the secret room.”

Fat chance of that!

The End

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Jill Kraft, for enduring the real-life agony which was the inspiration for this book. I cannot imagine my life without your friendship.

To my beautiful and talented daughter, Heather Ann Robinson, you make me want to be a better person. Although your prodding isn't always gentle, you have finally convinced me to seek the joy in every moment. Encouraging me to seek a more fulfilling and positive life is the most loving gesture I have ever been offered. Thank you. My love for you is immeasurable.

To my mother, Pat Holden, thank you for taking in a grown child and seven rescue pets, on a snowy night in 2011. You gave me life once, and saved my life last year. Words cannot express my appreciation for both.

To my brother and sisters, Bill Holden, Cindy Holden Ruffo, Joanne Converse Stevenson, and the remainder of my zany family. Life is difficult. I wouldn't want to do it without you.

To my amazing circle of friends, which I am blessed to say are too numerous to list, thank you for your support, for reading my words, for listening to my frustrations, and for putting up with my endless drama. You are the gifts I could never deserve.

For Georgia and Carena, two of seven of my four-legged children. You rode hundreds of miles in the cars of strangers, and endured hardships no voiceless creature ever should. You inspired the characters of Daisy and Duke, and I love you forever. No harm will ever come to you again. Not on my watch. And, to the animal advocates, far and wide, keep doing what you do. You are all angels.

To RB and EM, for convincing me to let the past go. Because of you, I am free, and no longer tell lawyer jokes.

To the real-life cast and crew of Tommy's Tool Town. You know who you are. Thank you for making me feel like a red-vested superstar, especially as I was praying my old truck wouldn't die in your parking lot. The road that led me to you was rocky, but I wouldn't change anything, if it meant not having you all in my life.

In an act of forgiveness, I must thank a little-known oil company in upstate New York, who shall remain nameless, and whose misconduct, disrespect, and negligence, caused me to evacuate an old life, and make room for one that is entirely new. Because of you I have a renewed vigor for this life I nearly lost. I wonder if you ever think of me. I think of you a lot.

This book is for anyone who has ever looked into the mirror, and saw a face that was unrecognizable. Keep looking. You're in there somewhere, and you're important. You matter. Love yourself from this moment on. What comes later is nothing short of amazing.

No crows were harmed in the making of this book.

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© Black Rose Writing