Perfect Pairing and Buffalove

rachelspangler • March 24, 2016

Hey friends.

Those of you who follow this blog know that I usually start blogging about one of my books about 8- 10 weeks before the release date. I’ve got my standard intros to the cover, the blurb, the sound track, the setting, etc., and I think it’s a good system overall. It gives the readers a little glimpse without (hopefully) overloading them. With my upcoming release,  Perfect Pairing , however, I have so much more I want to tell you all, and even though the book won’t be out until July, I just don’t want to wait any longer. So I guess what I’m saying is, prepare to be overloaded.

The overload will likely come in three forms. First, the standard pre-release blogs, the kind I mentioned above: characters, soundtrack, blurb, and sneak peaks. Next, the cooking videos. Because this is a book about a grilled-cheese chef, I want to show you the cool recipes and pro-tips I picked up along the way. And finally the Buffalove blogs, the blogs that go a little deeper than usual on the subject of setting, because it’s time the world (or at least my corner of influence over it) learns a little more about the awesomeness of the Queen City. Today’s blog falls into the last category.

Those of you who’ve followed my writing for a while have already gotten some peeks into how much I’ve grown to appreciate Buffalo over the last few years. Having lived in the Midwest through high school, undergrad, and grad school, my books have largely been set there. My Darlington books have established me as a mostly Midwestern writer, and I’m okay with that, but now that I’ve lived in Western New York for nearly a decade, it’s easier to see those influences working their way into my books.

LoveLife was my first novel set in Buffalo, and it’s a winter book. I got to write a few scenes really exploring the ways in which the epic weather shapes our lives here. Getting Serious from the recent Sweet Hearts  anthology is a spin off from LoveLife and therefore also takes place in Buffalo. The timing of that one also put my characters in the magic and mayhem of a Buffalo winter. Here’s the first big secret of Western New York: Most of us who choose to live here actual love this part of the country during winter. Yes, it’s hard, but it’s also dramatic and beautiful. When people say, “Oh I know it’s pretty, but how do you survive the winters?” I always say, “We don’t survive them, we revel in them.” We ski, we curl, we toboggan, we ice skate, and we play hockey. We snowshoe and sled and build snow forts. We make soup in big crock pots and hot chocolate in vats. I don’t love living here in spite of winter; I love life here because of winter.

That being said, I didn’t want to just dispel the myths about Buffalo being a frozen tundra in the winter and be done. With Perfect Pairing I wanted to deal with the larger problem that all people ever know about Buffalo is winter. We have three other seasons (Okay, actually 4 other seasons because right now we are in mud season, but we don’t talk about that one). Spring, summer, and fall are all glorious in Western New York. The climate is temperate, the surroundings are beautiful, and the people are jamming. Sure Buffalo fell on hard times. Everyone knows the stories of the Rust Belt, but those days are history. And speaking of history, we have plenty of that to go around, too. The past and the present are alive and exciting in the Nickel City. Don’t believe me? Well here’s your primer of the City of Good Neighbors (We also have lots of nicknames).

Really, did you watch it? Admit it (in the comment section) you were surprised, right? Excited even? I hope so, but this video is just the beginning. Over the next few months I’ll be taking the Wonderboi Blog on a tour of some of my favorite places in and around Buffalo, and when I’m done, you’re going to want to visit.

Brace yourselves, friends. This is the summer of Buffalove!

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Facebook memories reminded me that we are approaching the 1 year anniversary of my stem cell donation. On June 1st of 2021, after five days of injections, I underwent a medical procedure to donate stem cells via a line in my chest. Those cells were then transferred into a cancer patient somewhere in Ohio. In addition to feeling like a high tech medical miracle, it was also a huge, awe inspiring experience for me personally, and I’ve spent the time since then feeling so proud and honored to have been in a position to so something so powerful. Then about two weeks ago I received a phone call that my recipient had passed away. I’m gutted. The news has ripped at me in ways I could not have anticipated. This is, in effect, the death of a stranger, a young woman in a different place, whose name I have never known. And now I will never know it. In some ways I don’t feel entitled to this level of grief. In so many ways she’d only ever existed for me as an idea. But we were not nothing to each other. I have prayed for her every day for almost a year, and now I pray for her family. I have wondered and worried over her. I have woken up in the middle of long nights and on Christmas morning thinking about her. Every time I notice the little scar on my chest where the line went into my body, I have felt her with me. Still, I did not know her. And I never will. When the transplant coordinator called, she broke the news quickly, then she said that she needed one more thing from me. She wondered if I might release my remaining stem cells to researchers. I was still a bit rocked back from the start of the conversation, and this request confused me. She explained that there were some cells left over after the transfusion, and they still belonged to me. Legally and ethically, those cells, even after they left my body, are a part of me, and no one can do anything to those extensions of my body without my releasing them. I thought about asking her if anyone had mentioned that to the Supreme Court, but I was too sad in the moment. The anger would come later, but as I’ve pondered that fact, it has helped me at least contextualize the level of grief I am feeling: A woman died with a part of me inside of her. I have tried to temper the dramatic impulse to surrender to the idea that if she died with a part of me inside her, a part of me has died as well, but I’ll admit I have gone there a time or two. What I have leaned on more frequently, though, is that despite not knowing anything other than her rough age and gender, we shared something more fundamental than names or letters. We shared stem cells, the very building blocks of what makes us who we are on a cellular level. With those cells I sent my hopes, my best impulses, my health, my love, the pieces of my blood and bones that allow me to live such a wonderful life in the hopes I could sustain her with those things. Turns out I could not. It has been two weeks of wondering if I could have done more. Fearing that my body, which I have always had a problematic relationship with, has failed me again, and this time betrayed someone else in the process. Worrying someone else paid the price of my insufficiency. Remembering loved ones I have lost to cancer, feeling that pain anew. Imagining the anguish of those who loved her as deeply as I loved the people I lost, and almost crippling empathy for the pain they are living in right now, pain I couldn’t save them from even though I tried. It’s been dark in my brain. My emotions have overwhelmed me often. Sadness ruled the first week. I burst into tears several times at inopportune moments, and cried until my face hurt. This past week anger took over. I will admit, other than a general sense of the injustice of it all, I didn’t understand where the anger came from. Then in session this week, my therapist explained that anger is a common outlet for a sense of helplessness. Helplessness is tied to our fight or flight instincts, and I am a fighter. I suppose a part of me is still trying to fight a battle that has already been lost. I am also still fighting against this slew of emotions I had no way to anticipate. I told her I was afraid of the strength of them. Since she knows me, she told me I needed to take hold of this narrative and find the through lines of what will sustain me as this story’s conclusion becomes a part of the larger story of my life. Even for a writer it was hard task. I know so very little for sure. I will think of this woman for the rest of my life, and I will never have any more closure than I have today. Despite my best effort and intentions, I will only know that she is gone, and she took a part of me with her. What is to be made of all the emotions that come with that? My therapist then asked if regret factored into the mix. I quickly said it did not, and I was surprised she even asked that. She smiled like she knew that, then gently pushed. “If one year ago someone had told you, there’s a woman in need and you will never know her. She needs the very base of your body’s building blocks, it will be a grueling process over several days that will take more out of you physically and emotionally than you had imagined, and all it will give her is 11 more months. 11 months to say what she needs to say, to hug loved ones, to try to make peace. One more Christmas, one more birthday, one more fall, and winter, and spring, but that’s all. She will be gone, and you will live on with the questions, and a connection most people will never comprehend. Would you sign up for that? The answer was yes. It is yes. If I got the same call tomorrow, the answer would be yes that day and every day after. It will always be yes. I suppose that is the through line. That’s the story. It’s part of my story, and it will be, for as long I have cells in my body…or out of it. · If your answer would be “yes” too, and you are eligible to donate, please consider registering with Be The Match , and if you aren't eligible yourself please share this information with the people in your life who might be!
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