February 28, 2026

Jeweled Beads of Wisdom

Posted by Mara Jevera Fulmer under beginnings, creative writing, Family, growth, love, magic, Photos, poetry, Travel, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |
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Dawn view from the mountainside above San Martin de los Piramides, Mexico, 2006. Photo by author.

Each place is a step along the winding path that has brought me here to this hovel in the countryside, a widow twice over, the mother of grown children, step mother to those who would still have me after the last husband passed away. And grandmother to those I can still hug in person or across the miles through the miracle of FaceTime.

Each place still hangs with me, its whispering wisdom, magic, and spirit, for me to carry to the next stop along my way, though that path is still left to be charted.

I feel the intensity of my grandmother’s journey from Russia through Europe, to Cuba, waiting to get into the US, mourning her little’s brother’s death during their travels with her mother, yet trying to find her own identity as a youth in a foreign land, only to later learn their father was gone, too.

They betray the loss… of old ways, of deep knowledge.
Such Olmec wisdom of ancestors on full display,
yet we still think we’re so smart.

I feel the wind against my cheek on a cool Mexican morning, sunrise over the mountainside at 10,000 feet, shadowing my back, letting sun rays drift across the pyramids below. They betray the loss… of old ways, of deep knowledge. Such Olmec wisdom of ancestors on full display, yet we still think we’re so smart.

I feel the salt spray on my face as the boat takes the waves through the channel in the Fiji islands, the ripples and splashes concealing the beautiful corals and tropical fish that dance and sway in the currents below. I join their steely giant cohabitant as it slowly tilts its hammerhead eyes towards me. I let myself sink to the sandy bottom.

I feel the sun’s warmth on my cheeks on a cool Michigan fall day, the flickering lights making colorful autumn leaves shine like jewels against the stark blue skies, belying the hints of winter to come. The old post and beam workshop behind me is wrapped in grapevines, providing shade to my printing presses inside, awaiting my touch to create anew.

I carry all of these feels with me, their memories, the learned wisdom, worn around my heart like jeweled beads of wisdom. I carry it all, sharing with willing souls, and learning from beloved travelers who I meet along the way, as I remake this home anew.

– Mara Jevera Fulmer, February 10, 2026

Backyard view, Fall sunset in Michigan. Photo by author.

The above prose was expanded from a short writing exercise during a six-week workshop offered by @LauraLentzWriter and her Literati Academy. The writers participating in this series are exploring their way through grief and the hero’s journey.

 

February 20, 2026

The angel and the Columbia

Posted by Mara Jevera Fulmer under beginnings, grief, growth, love, magic, Photos, surviving, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |
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Heavy leather belts begin to turn the wheels of the giant Columbia oscillating sander. Photo by author.

He was bobbing around laughing and smiling, his broad chested yet smallish stature accentuated by the 23,000 lbs of 19th century iron machinery that he was tweaking here and there to coax it back to life. It came from an era when the railroad industry was at its height, three drums of varying sandpaper oscillating to prepare the wood, and a fourth drum covered in brushes to clean it off and ready to use.

I sat there watching him, though surreptitiously as I was supposed to be doing my homework for my doctoral program. My books and iPad were perched upon the hand-built wooden table saw that the original owner of this post & beam furniture factory had built for himself complete with little victorian flourishes of details in the handles and guards.

But I just couldn’t help trying to keep track of my new beau Steve’s efforts as he climbed up on top of the giant Columbia sanding machine. Then he would hop down again to check the webbing of more large leather belts and their matching steel pulleys that would have made the machine turn its wheels back in the days of steam power.

I remembered when my husband Keith and I first bought this property, not even two years before. We bought it at first sight, a 20th Century post and beam building filled with many pieces of 19th and early 20th century heavy machinery all used to make furniture. An accomplished woodworker himself, Keith had planned to make it all his. Alas, the stars were aligned differently and he passed away from a very aggressive cancer barely a year after we purchased it leaving me, his widow, to sort out what to do with it all.

And then the stars sent Steve. I think KEITH sent Steve, perhaps after being horrified at my poor attempts to try and sell some of the tools I knew I would never use, but that had left me grifted by his own friend. Steve would become my protector. But perhaps in this case it was not that he had fallen in love only with me, I wondered sometimes. It was this place, where it seemed that many ghosts had congregated to protect the legacy of this old maker space.

I looked up and there was Steve, dancing around the machine grinning from ear to ear.

As I tried to go back to my homework on my table-saw desk, I heard the roar and rattle as the beast came to life. Keith had tried to do this before, but the belts were too loose and fell off within seconds. He never had the chance to go back and try again before his illness had progressed too far.

I looked up and there was Steve, dancing around the machine grinning from ear to ear. As I watched this elfish man jump around this iron giant, he went to one end of the machine where large wood panels would come out, fully sanded and brushed off, ready to use for railroad cars. I snapped a picture of him with the light behind him.

The ghosts that haunt me now. Photo by author.

Later that day I would look again at this photo only to catch my breath. There it was, a ghostly shadow of a slim man leaning over just behind Steve. Keith was there, cheering for the success of this rebirth of this giant, perhaps the last operational Columbia belt-driven panel sander left in the country I’d discovered after further research. I took this rebirthing as a sign that I should never take for granted that I am ever alone on this path. And to accept that my angels are never very far from me, despite the temptation to succumb to sadness. That death of my loved one is not an ending. But a new beginning.

– Mara Jevera Fulmer, February 18, 2026

The “K” at the end of the line. Photo by author.

The above prose was expanded from a 13-minute writing exercise during a six-week workshop offered by @LauraLentzWriter and her Literati Academy. The writers participating in this series are exploring their way through grief and the hero’s journey.

 

January 2, 2013

Endings & Beginnings

Posted by Mara Jevera Fulmer under beginnings, cancer, death, Family, friendship, grief, marriage, mourning | Tags: , , , |
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Above: Keith climbed the hill to the 4000 sq. ft. workshop. Facing the new year without him begins one step at a time.
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It was New Year’s Eve and I met it with intense trepidation. 2012 began so full of promise… we had just celebrated our older daughter’s wedding, bought property that would be Keith’s new shop, I had been awarded the Fulbright grant to Russia, and our younger daughter was graduating from the university. Yes, 2012 was going to be a good year.

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t. What a difference a day makes.

With Keith’s cancer, the world as I had thought it would be changed on a dime. From diagnosis to death… less than 3 months. And now Keith is gone.

This is that stage on the grief journey where I would get angry, cry, and doubt my ability to survive. Saying goodbye to 2012 was like saying goodbye to Keith all over again, like he was moving further and further from my reach, my daily experiences, my future.

This is what is most frightening to me. The future. A future further and further removed from Keith, the person with whom I shared two-thirds of my life. My entire adult life. And now, with my own life expectancy to be many years into the future, I face an entirely new unanticipated life.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. We were supposed to grow old together, two greying codgers puttering around our studios, bouncing ideas off each other, traveling on our bikes… or trikes … as we got too old to hold up the 2-wheelers. Visiting with our grandchildren, helping our grown children with their own journey as maturing adults. This is the part where I get angry again. It wasn’t supposed to be this way!!!

Getting through the end of 2012

I spent most of the last two days up to New Years Eve slipping in and out of tears, my voice on the edge of cracking, grief bubbling up to the surface even as I struggled to squash it from my psyche, all to no avail. I’d sometimes have to turn away when someone stopped by to ask how I was doing. Or during a call, I’d go silent as I swallowed back unexpected tears that threatened to choke me.

Yesterday afternoon, when this stubborn grief threatened to overwhelm me, I decided to do what I had been doing nearly every day, but this time with more focused effort. So as the sun started sinking in the west, I packed a sandwich – leftover ham from Christmas dinner – picked up a fresh Starbucks coffee in my insulated mug and headed over to Perry Road. The gallery house stood before me, nearly done, final details with corbels and gable trim were installed and I couldn’t help but smile. All that’s left is a few little things outside, and finishing the paint and electric inside which should all be done by Monday.

I walked around this building that was originally going to house a showroom of Keith’s furniture on the first floor with older daughter’s photo studio upstairs. The latter will still happen. But downstairs will be a bit more flexible gallery studio space. A piece or two of Keith’s furniture might be on display until it finds a home with one of us Fulmer gals.

The snow crunched beneath my feet as I headed around back, the Himalayan wind chimes with the inscription to Keith greeted me with a deep resonating chord. I said hello to Keith’s chimes in return greeting. With work gloves on my hands, I dragged a couple of cinder blocks to the crest of the hill and piled one of Keith’s furniture blankets folded on top for me to sit. For the next half hour I sat and listened to the sounds around me, nibbled on my sandwich and sipped my coffee. It’s a beautiful space to meditate and I always have felt stronger for it. This night was no different. But when I stood up to move on and out of the cold darkening space, I said my goodbyes again, a prayer for peace in my life, in the girls’ lives, and in the next life Keith is in, somewhere beyond my reach.

Then, as I went into the old workshop behind the newly renovated gallery house, I started to putter, my usual activity here, familiarizing myself with little things I find in the many dusty corners. Then I picked up a broom and a shovel. The huge 4000 sq ft shop has piles of saw dust everywhere. It was time to begin cleaning it up if it was to become the real artists’ working studio I hoped (and Keith asked me) to make it. An overwhelming task, for certain. But having just seen the other building nearly completed, I understood a little more about what it would take to do this one. I swept up a pile of sawdust and scooped it up into the big trash can. It’s a big job. But it all begins with one step… One step at a time.

Next Steps, New Year, New Life

So what is it all for now? Yes, I have two beautiful daughters who I love with all my life. They are the reason I continue to look forward. Yes, I have my work. Yes, I have my studies. Yes, I have my art and even music and writing.

But, it can be very lonely at the end of the day. And frankly, as sweet (and sometimes noisy) as they are, my dogs are poor conversationalists.

As much as it pains me deeply, I am not sure I am meant to live the next chapter of my life alone. The pain comes from guilt… Am I being unfaithful? How can I think about sharing ideas and the day’s news with another “companion”? conversations that were meant for Keith?

And that’s where 2013 will begin for me… trying to find my footing in this new territory of widowhood. Boy oh boy has the dating scene changed since the ’70s. And, of course, so have I.

A close friend told me the other night, during a very late night conversation about our mutual grief, of people she has known who have created close bonds or even marriage to someone new after a losing their loved husband or wife. She said that they had found love in this new relationship, but that their new spouse (who may also have been widowed) recognized that there will always be this other love in their life who came first and who was taken too soon. They understood that they are second, sharing their new companion with this other ghost lover who holds their heart.

That gives me at least a little comfort that there may be a future not entirely alone, that there may be a way to balance these two competing dynamics – a positive future and the beautiful past. But it is heartbreaking when I think that I must even face this new future without Keith, my beautiful husband and best friend who never will see another New Year’s Day or welcome in another year.

I woke up New Years Day feeling so much better. One step forward, one swept pile of sawdust, one more day closer to the next chapter life has in store for this new widow.

It’s going to be a tough journey. And I guess I really have very little choice in this matter. But I have the love of my family and good friends to help carry me forward. I’ve learned that much in these past months and days. And if I’ve learned anything else from 2012, it’s that you can’t take anything for granted. I love and appreciate them all.

So here’s to surviving this new journey in the New Year! Find time to listen to the wind, the rustle of leaves, the sounds beneath your feet… All of these remind us we are alive, here to make a difference in this world… One small step at a time.

May peace be with you in 2013. – mjf

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Above: the nearly completed “gallery” house. Keith asked me not to sell the property, but to instead prepare it for use by me and the girls rather than its originally intended showroom gallery for his furniture. Behind this building is a 4000 sq ft workshop (one section shown below) filled still with vintage woodworking machines and small tools and materials. Someday it, too, will become art studio space for me and my girls.

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