I Wrote A Book! “Fresh Helen,” This One’s For You

A few days ago, IT arrived. Giddy with excitement, and anticipation and very nearly slicing off my finger in the process, I tore open the box from Barnes and Noble.

Nestled inside was the physical result of over a year of hard work, self doubt, anxiety and frustration.

It’s impossible to describe my joy as, there in all of it’s glory, in print, was my first book.

I had done it. Although it took a pandemic to do it, I had accomplished a long held dream of mine by writing and self-publishing a children’s book inspired by my grandmother, Helen Rainey Irving, entitled, “Fresh Helen and the Mashed Up, Smashed Up, Messed Up Plane.”

My journey to “Fresh Helen” began several years ago, when I experienced something I can only describe as “other worldly.” I don’t do the supernatural. I abhor horror movies ever since I spent the night in my parents’ bed after seeing “The Exorcist,” I dread Halloween, I don’t believe in ghosts or angels, and I don’t see a cardinal on a bird feeder and think it’s my grandmother coming back to say hello.

Coincidence and odd phenomena is just that; odd phenomena with no special significance attached. Signs from the beyond aren’t my thing and it’s very possible my attitude and general cynicism could be genetic…

My father’s mom, known to us as Grandma, Granny, and once I had my kids, Grandma Helen, was what I call a “it is what it is” kind of person. She was kind, warm, and loving but she did not suffer fools, was never one to be taken advantage of, and solved life’s problems pragmatically.

As she approached her 90th birthday, she began to have horrible upper abdominal pains. It took months to get to the bottom of the issue and when she discovered that she had a torn aorta, she decided not to try to fix it with surgery, and instead allow nature to take its course.

We all knew it was just a matter of time and understood that she was basically a ticking time bomb.

No one knew when the aorta would fully tear apart, but we knew it most likely wouldn’t be long. My parents had just returned to the East coast after flying out to her home in California to see her and reassured us that she was comfortable and doing fairly well.

But, something nagged at me; something “other worldly,” and I felt overwhelmed and compelled to get on a plane and fly out there immediately.

I have never been so sure of a decision in my life. I didn’t care about the cost of the ticket, the route or airline I needed to fly (I ended up in the last row of a USAir flight, and for me to be willing to fly USAir, there must’ve been something supernatural going on), I just knew I needed to get there quickly.

My aunt and I spent a fantastic day at Granny’s house making cookies and laughing. At the end of the day, again, led by some inexplicable force, I asked her to stay overnight with us at my aunt’s rather than alone at her house with her caregiver. She agreed, and after a wonderful dinner of steak, baked potatoes, her nightly scotch and getting down on the floor to play with her great grandchildren, Granny went to bed.

Several hours later, awakened by my aunt because Granny was up and uncomfortable, I walked into the living room and sat down on the coffee table facing her on the couch. After speaking for a few minutes, her countenance suddenly changed and I could see the pain and tension ease.

I got up to go sit beside her, and after a quiet exhalation like a gentle sigh, she quietly and peacefully died in my arms. It was one of the most incredible, supernatural and wondrous moments of my life. I was honored to be there; just Granny, her daughter and me as she made her way to that “other” world.

Later, when we went through her things, we found her folder of creative writing assignments from a class she had taken several years prior. Granny had always been a wonderful storyteller and writer.

When my siblings, cousins and I were all kids, she told us fun stories about a “Dennis the Menace” type character she called “Fresh Helen.”  These stories were especially poignant for me, when my parents took my brother and I when I was four and moved to Guam for two years for my dad’s job.

The primary way to communicate in 1968 was through reel to reel tapes, and when one arrived from Granny, we excitedly sat by the stereo patiently listening to all of her news because we knew a “Fresh Helen” story would be coming for us. 

Granny named her character after herself; something I never noticed until I was older, I think because, to me, this woman was Granny, not an actual person with a real name, a history or any specific characteristics. As “Fresh Helen” she became real to me as she got into all sorts of trouble, finding creative ways to get out, and learning a moral lesson on the way.

Opening that folder brought all of those childhood memories flooding back, for inside among other writings was a “Fresh Helen” story.

Over the years, Granny and I discovered that we shared a passion for writing and would often discuss our mutual desire to express ourselves on paper. She read and critiqued things I wrote and then shared what she was learning and writing from her creative writing class.

I treasure those conversations.

So, right there, in her bedroom with that folder in my hands, I made myself a promise, and once the tears abated, it’s as if my aunt knew exactly what I was thinking when she said, “Les, I know you two shared a passion for writing. You know she would love you to have this.” Honored and inspired, I flew home ready to write.

But, then, life happened and the folder went into a drawer.

It took a worldwide pandemic, and, once again, feeling somewhat supernaturally directed, I dug out the folder. With Granny in my heart and as my inspiration, I decided to bring “Fresh Helen” back to life in my own way. As a grandmother now myself, I worked to reimagine and reinvent Helen for a new audience choosing to use her to shine a light on issues like self esteem and bullying.

I wanted “Fresh Helen” to be bigger than one person and I’ve always been interested in trying to understand why bullies bully. As I began to flesh her out, and to create the storyline, strangely, for reasons even I don’t understand, this new “Fresh Helen” came out in rhyme.

And now, it’s here.

After many good, long “other worldly” chats with Granny above, I wrote a book!

“Fresh Helen and the Mashed Up, Smashed Up, Messed Up Plane,” the first in what I hope will become a series, is now a reality.

Someday, when I am long gone, maybe “Fresh Helen” will still be around on someone’s bookshelf. Even if it’s just on the bookshelves of my own grandkids, it will have been worth it and they will know that for at least a little bit, Nana was a writer.

And, I know, Granny, the original “Fresh Helen,” is proud whether 20 (I’m fairly confident I can count on the cousins and immediate family) or 20,000 read it, because there she was on the bird feeder the day I finished the book. I saw you, you gorgeous, velvety, bright crimson cardinal!

I love you, Granny. “Fresh Helen,” this one’s for you.

Leslie