By Robin
Weaver
A couple
months after my husband died, a well-meaning friend suggested a book might help—a
self-pubbed collection of grief memoirs written by my friend’s friend. Somehow,
I managed to don my polite face, while I inwardly cringed. And re-cringing. And
cringing again.
First,
nothing was going to help but time; I had accepted that. During that period, the
only way I could get through my day was to play happy music and pretend my
grief didn’t exist (in full disclosure, a lot of Ben & Jerry’s was also
involved). Yet this friend wanted me to
read about more death? I already knew I wasn’t alone in my experience, but to
this day, I don’t really understand how people think hearing about another
tragedy can possibly make another person feel better.
You can
relax, I’m climbing off that soapbox. 😊 But on to the next… Second, (and I repeat: “Second!”) he
wanted me to read a collection of memoirs? By an untrained author? Was he nuts?
Maybe my friend was trying to kill me.
Anyway, I
accepted the book with a semi-smile, and promptly donated it to Goodwill. Only a few months later, at a music festival
(yes, the music actually helped 😊), I met the memoir author. And formed an instant
connection. Not only because we had a shared widowhood experience, but because Mary
is actually one of the coolest people alive.
Even so, I still couldn’t read her book. My philosophy is to never intentionally do
something that’s going to make me sad. And knowing the author would make Mary’s
pages even sadder.
Only Mary decided to turn her Loss World Monologues into
a play. And I was asked to participate.
“Say what?” It’s like these people don’t even know me. What part
of I can only handle grief with humor
did my friends not get? Even worse, haven’t they heard my squeaky voice? And even though I can get loud with the best
of them, squeaky voices do not project.
Not to mention my acting experience is zero.
Not being able to say, “NO,” or even no, or “I don’t think so,” I
auditioned, thinking I’d finally found my way out. Only I didn’t realize (THEN) I had a major advantage—I
could memorize quickly. In hindsight, I might have flubbed a few of those
lines. More important though, I had
lived through the subject matter.
Anyway… I somehow survived the three months of rehearsals;
rehearsals which entailed hearing (and speaking) about the despair that follows
the death of a spouse. Despair I felt but didn’t want to acknowledge. And
before you ask—no, it didn’t help. After every rehearsal, I’d go home and play
Bon Jovi and Def Leppard at earsplitting volume. That helped.
What did help was the lasting friendships I formed, especially
with the Mary. When we were celebrating the end of a successful show, someone
jokingly asked, “When are you and Mary going to write the sequel?”
I replied honestly, I can’t do this weepy, but if you want to do
a comedy, I’m in?”
One of Mary’s monologues detailed her boy box—a cigar box that she used to keep the cards of guys who
asked her out out after her husband died. After ten years, she had a lot of
cards.
Thus, The Box Box was conceived. 😊
The ebook is scheduled for release April 9th, and the
print book will follow shortly. If any
of you in the RTG world would like to be a beta-reader and provide us some feedback,
we’d love to send you a free electronic copy.
Until then… Happy Wednesday!
What
would you do if the undertaker’s son made a pass at you?
At your
husband’s funeral?
Jana
Byrd stuffs the cougar-hunter’s card into a box and forgets him.
As she
struggles to focus on one-day-at-a-time after her husband’s death, Jana
acquires several dozen cards from wanna-be-lovers, friends-seeking benefits,
and the occasional nice guy. All the
cards remain in the Boy Box, until Jana’s friends decide they should all date
again and decide to draw names from the box.
Forty-something
Jana scoffs at the idea of seeing other men.
She’s still in love with her five-years gone soulmate and chats with him
daily.
Her BFF
Nanette Meeks is equally appalled by the dating scheme. How can she possibly date again after her
ex-husband divorced her to marry his bimbette-a mousy little thing barely out
of her teens? What man can be trusted?
Other than her former spouse’s younger brother?
Faith
Chanton, a former Miss Georgia and jet-setting preacher’s widow, refuses to be
thwarted by her friend’s dating resistance.
She demands the four ladies draw cards from the Boy Box and “get back
out there.”
The hot
blonde, with loads of charisma and an even bigger bank account, shouldn’t need
a Boy Box card to have men worshipping at her temple. Only the man she seeks doesn’t exist – one
who walks on water and is deliciously devilish in the dark.
Faith’s
dating enthusiasm is buoyed by Sapphire Bellona, the youngest of the
group. She exudes the overconfidence
that only occurs at age twenty-eight, and believes she can have any man she
wants. Sapphire is continually mystified when date number two never happens.
Only
nothing is as it seems. Will the
friendships endure as the four women start the arduous journey of dating after
death, divorce and bra fat?
