It's That Time of Year...Again

For those of us who believe in making New Year's resolutions, the time is now. And for all of you "nonbelievers," consider the value of reviewing, reflecting and possibly even beginning the tradition by establishing goals for 2014. It's never too late to begin!

Last year, one of my most important goals was to publish my novel, Bellehaven. And as many of you know, that happened. What I didn't completely realize was that marketing should have also been one of my goals for last year. So, one of my major initiatives this year is to market my book.

I have a great desire to see it read and so, the marketing takes on a whole different perspective for me. I find it's less about recouping my publishing costs and more about knowing it's been read by as many people as I can reach.

Earlier today, my oldest daughter, Ginger, called to wish us a Happy New Year. She told me about a challenge she'd heard about where rather than making a list of resolutions, we should find the one word that reflects what we hope to accomplish or change in 2014. "Take some time," she advised me, "And the word will come to you. Then post that word everywhere---on your mirror, over your computer, maybe even on your car visor."

Instantly, as she was telling me, "my" word came, as some things come to me. My word is "productive." My goal is to write bigger, more authentically than in the past. And to do so, I know I must write every day. Consider doing this exercise. Whether your goal is a writing one or simply one thing you'd like to do differently this year, I challenge you to find your word. Once you have, try to live it.


Happy New Year, everyone!

Thank You, Mrs. Bunting

If you’re like me and someone asks you, “Who were the mentors who influenced you?” you probably can reel off a few names very quickly. We can all recall those who've had a major influence on our life choices, but how about those who enter your life only briefly?

 

One of those people in my life was Mrs. Bunting. She lived near us in a small white bungalow badly in need of paint, but lovely still, with a beautiful rose arbor gracing the back. When my mother returned to work for a brief time so we could buy our first television, we were told we’d be going to Mrs. Bunting’s house after school until one of our parents came home. I groaned as loudly as my two sisters about the prospect of staying with boring and OLD Mrs. Bunting.

A lady in every sense of the word as described in the ‘40's and ‘50's, she dressed discreetly in a pressed house dress and wore beaded, dangly, earrings, pierced ones, which in itself was a rarity in those days among the locals. Her necklaces always matched the baubles in her ears. Her gray hair, was always modestly waved, with nary a hair out of place. An aura of floral scent surrounded her when she moved.

Mrs. Bunting took her responsibility to care for us seriously. Each day when we arrived home from school, she had a snack waiting. Not the usual cookies we would have grabbed on the run at home, though. Instead, she would direct us to her dining room table where she had placed pedestaled crystal glasses filled with chocolate pudding or jello on small crocheted cloth doilies. A dab of whipped cream adorned the top. Dessert spoons with a “B” monogrammed on the handle rested precisely to the right while a pristine white napkin was to the left of the fluted dish.
 

 Filled with pent up energy from school, we were impatient to go outside if the weather was nice. Mrs. Bunting had a long driveway, excellent for jump rope. We tried to rush through the snack as quickly as we could, but Mrs. Bunting didn’t allow it. “When young ladies eat, conversation is important,” she said, with a frown. “The outdoors will always be there, but manners must be observed.”

Then one day I needed to use the bathroom. “It’s the door off the living room,” said Mrs. Bunting. “Just past my boudoir. Remember, you must never enter my boudoir. No one ever goes into a lady’s boudoir without permission.”

I was fascinated by this additional word to my vocabulary! Boudoir. It sounded exotic and special. After that, I made it a point to go to the bathroom every day so I could peek into the “lady’s boudoir.” In the room, made dark by the heavy closed velvet drapes, the interior appeared lush. I’d pause on my way in and out of the bathroom to catch as long of a glance as I could.
And so, Mrs. Bunting began my more formal education of “comportment.” I practiced walking up and down the sun parlor with a book on my head. “A young lady must always know how to carry herself.” She had a rule for just about everything a young lady should do. I practiced sitting quietly on the porch, hands folded. “A young lady does not fidget.”

My sisters didn’t escape all the instructions, either, as Mrs. Bunting always started her lessons at the table. “Always unfold your napkin slowly and place it on your lap before you pick up your spoon. That’s how a lady conducts herself.

          “And when you are finished, place your spoon beside the dish, not in it. Then, blot your lips with your napkin, even if you don’t think you need to do so. Then fold the napkin and place it next to your plate.”
          And again, she would repeat, “That shows you know how to act like a lady.”
          “Always say thank you as well, no matter how simple the meal or food.”

At this point, my two sisters would ask the prerequisite question, “May we now be excused?”

Mrs. Bunting would nod her regal head and as they scrambled from the table, they always rolled their eyes at me since I chose to remain behind. Years later, I questioned my understanding about the word she used, “comportment.” Had I confused it with deportment, a category on our elementary school report card? I looked up the two words and realized the subtle difference. No, Mrs Bunting was definitely teaching me how to comport myself as a lady. Each time I unfold my napkin, I think of her.

And to this day, if I sit in the sun and close my eyes, I can see myself sitting on Mrs. Bunting’s sun porch, practicing my ladylike behavior. Now, I wish I could have acknowledged the awareness she gave me during that brief time we spent together---the appreciation of common courtesies. If you have Mrs. Buntings in your life, consider letting them know they’ve influenced your life. And so, today, I want to say “thank you, Mrs. Bunting,” for taking the time to teach me the value of manners.

 

You Can Go Home Again

 Do you remember the books of your childhood or those of your teen years? The books that inspired you, touched you exactly where you were at that time? If you’re like me, you never forget those special tomes. They’re part of your history, your angst, read at a vulnerable and intense time in your life. And just remembering their influence may be the best way to honor those books.

Rereading them could be like tasting a childhood favorite food, one you haven’t tasted for many years. For me, it was those cinnamon buns we were allowed to select from the Freihofer bread truck every Saturday morning. Do they still even make them? Cream donuts, too. Recently I tried one again and found my adult tastes just weren’t into them anymore. And so I hesitate to revisit those books that held a special place in my heart during my formative years.

At the very least, I fear going back and rereading those books could be disappointing. A book that resonated at age sixteen may now feel dated and worse yet, no longer relevant. So, a few months ago, when our book group selected “A Tree grows in Brooklyn,” I considered skipping that month’s discussion. After all, Betty Smith’s coming-of-age book was one of my most treasured teenage reads. Would I lose my fond memories with another perusal? Would her writing style seem dated this many years later?

After hesitating for a while, I decided to give it a try. After all, I never like to miss a book discussion! From page one I was drawn back into the story and found my life experience only enhanced my second reading and I identified from the very beginning with the protagonist, Francie. Returning to her 1912 Brooklyn tenement was like coming home, but different, too.

Now, my life experience lends a new dimension to my reading of this classic. I get it more now. All the nuances that I must have brushed over as a raw, untested teen now strike a new chord

As a writer, I now have a greater appreciation of character development, voice and definitely the use of metaphor. I found I had a deeper understanding of all the elements that go into writing and that brought a brand new appreciation for this classic. For writers, reading is like water and air—we need that constant infusion of other authors to inspire and teach us. For more about the value of reading, check out my blog posting, Five Reasons Why Writers Should Belong to Book Groups.

Here are a few other books that still move me:

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

East of Eden by John Steinbeck

The Great Gatsby by Ernest Hemingway

Exodus by Leon Uris

The Good Earth by Pearl Buck

A Walk on the Other Side

As a writer, I confess I’m a creature of habit. Writing comes easiest when I’m in my usual writing “space”—a room tucked away from TV and other distractions. I put on some of my favorite music, Billy Joel, Frank Sinatra, Chris Botti, and Norah Jones, and the words flow. Well, they flow most of the time…

Spending the winter in Florida where I write on a laptop in the dining room/living room while first football and now March madness prevails, however, has resulted in a bit of a block. My muse, it seems, stayed at home. And of course, the lure of sunshine, beach, and pool has also been hard to resist.

Still, I tell myself that's no excuse and call to mind one of my favorite quotes: "Those who write are writers. Those who wait  are waiters," coined by science fiction and fantasy author A. Lee Martinez. Yet despite my get tough stance, I still come up blank. All my forced sitting in front of the white screen seems to make it worse.

In desperation, I read a lot of how-to-break-through writers block articles on the Internet. The great number of the suggestions tells me I'm not alone in my dilemma. I find a common thread in many of the prompts that tells me I need to recall the joy that I first experienced when I began writing. One way to do this according to my research is to try a different genre, to take a “walk” on the other side—the other side of your usual writing, that is. If fiction is what you normally do, try a poem or a memoir piece, or vice versa.

So I decide to take a break and enjoy writing purely for writing’s sake without pressure. Why not play with words, I thought, like a kid in a sandbox? I can still visualize my now adult daughters as children just letting the sand sift through their fingers. Their joy in the texture wasn't marred by any need to create something permanent or profound. Inspired by that image, I take pen in hand and let my hand take over. I pick poetry as my "blockbreaker" because poets seem to truly love and treasure words. One of the sites I found helpful is Instant Poetry Forms.

Here’s a bit of fun I had with just a wee bit of poetry. It’ll never be in an anthology, but it was fun to play with the words and definitely the antidote to my writer's block. It does need one last line in the second stanza, though. Any idea, fellow writers? Send them to me! But only if you can have fun playing in my poetic sandbox...

A Writer’s Lament

Ideas aplenty come

As I sit by poolside

Long fled before I go to bed

Before the Sun’s memory leaves my skin.

The shower’s hour brings grand ideas

While I soap and shampoo

Gone, oh why, before I’m dry?


I'd also love to hear your solutions for those dry spells in your creativity. And remember:

Happy Valentine's Day!

 Whether you’re with good friends or the love of your life, I hope you are all celebrating this day. Promise yourself all good things not only this month but always. And as is so often said, “follow your heart” in all you do and grow your passion for whatever and whoever you love.

One of my joys is sharing my writing with others so here is a poem I’ve written that speak to love and passion.

Passion

 Plump, juicy strawberries nestled on ice cream

A first dance dress with rhinestone buttons

Valentine from first time sweetheart. 

The sounds of love first discovered.

The whisper of taffeta

A rocket firing.

 Tart, sweet cherry pie

Salt of blood from cut finger

Twisted licorice stick

Lush velvet curtains shutting out the light

Sunset on a hot summer day

Love, pure love, life poured out for another.

 

 

 

 

And So Today, My Potato Smiles

Every January, I take time to reflect on the past year and think of what I want to do differently in the New Year. While my resolutions always list many of the same goals—eat healthier, exercise more, and weigh less, I also like to add new pledges, too. Last year, I chose intentional kindness. Choosing a similar goal for 2013 was especially hard since the year began with the fiscal cliff, the rising debt ceiling, the aftermath of the tragic school shooting, and the memory of Hurricane Sandy’s devastation. I felt weighed down and arid.

I'm lagging behind and barely making my intentions by the end of January, but I tell myself it's never too late to choose a mode of self improvement or look for  a way to better the world. First, I realized I needed to get out of my funk.

I didn't have to go to Google to search. The answer was right in my kitchen. While foraging in the fridge for salad makings, I realized I wasn’t alone. There, on the middle shelf sat my potato bowl and in it, yes, my potato was smiling. I smiled back and ran to get my camera. That friendly potato lifted my spirits and set my mind farther along on my quest. But I wasn't where I needed to be yet.


The next morning I pulled out my plastic container of Florida strawberries. Plump and delicious, their fragrance beckoned. Lo and behold, inside nestled a strawberry heart. And just like the refrigerator light went on, I knew what course I should take. It was as evident as the smile on my potato's face and the curve of my fruited heart.

This year, I will look for the extraordinary in the ordinary, search for the beauty and uniqueness that a busy life often hides. I will try to view my world through a childlike lens.

That, I realized, was exactly what this year's special resolution should be. I needed to see the wonder of the ordinary. So, my goal this year is to see the world in new and different ways, to seek all its beauty and not permit the state of the world to make me lose an appreciation of what is before me. And so, that is where I am now. I’m pledging to become more childlike.

Rachel Carson said it so well: “A child’s world is fresh and new and beautiful, full of wonder and excitement. It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct for what is beautiful and awe-inspiring, is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood.” With a conscious effort, I believe that doesn’t have to be so. And so, I am going to set out to view what was before me in a new and different perspective.

So, I invite you to consider joining me in purposely choosing to see the world through a child’s eyes. Searching for and treasuring the wonders that exist in our every day life won’t solve our country’s larger issues, but it will surely enhance our day to day experiences.

Here are a few more words on the value of nurturing your inner child:

“If you want to be creative, stay in part a child, with the creativity and invention that characterizes children…” Jean Piaget, Swiss developmental psychologist and philosopher

“The end of childhood is when things cease to astonish us. When the world seems familiar, when one has got used to existence, one has become an adult.” Eugene Ionesco, French playwright

"We must remain close to the flowers, the grass, and the butterflies as the child is who is not yet much taller than they are..." Friedrich Nietszche

                                                                                       
For more hints on successful goal setting, check out my blog, "How to make (and keep) Resolutions

 

The Good Old Days

Do you ever miss what you consider “the good old days?” Sometimes, I must confess I do find myself getting nostalgic about how life used to be. Billy Joel sums up those sentiments in the first verse of his song, “Keeping the Faith,” and as he says so well, it’s tempting to get “lost in let’s remember.”

Let’s face it. For many of us, the innocence of an earlier time in our lives can cause a longing for the past. In our memory those days evoke a simpler life style, one in which candy bars were bigger and a half gallon of ice cream was really a half gallon. I can also recall long summer days where getting lost all day, or at least until the real cows—not the proverbial ones—came home, was the norm. All that innocence of an earlier time can make one long for times past.

Unlike some of the images Billy conjures up in his iconic song, I was the “good” girl in the poodle skirt worrying more about whether my saddle shoes were polished to perfection or if that threat of a pimple on my chin would erupt before the Friday night canteen. My sole rebellion was hanging out of my friend, Jeannette’s, window puffing away on a cigarette. That adventure didn’t last too long as neither of us really enjoyed the taste or the smell of Luckies.

Still, I do look back on those carefree and rather egocentric days with pleasure, but I like to think “the past never got in my way.” So, if you think “I'm feeling older and missing my younger days,” read on.

Despite what I now consider some of my shallow teenage priorities, I also recall deep yearnings to live a life with greater meaning and purpose. I just wasn’t sure what path that should be. Deep within, though, I always “had the hunger,” a desire to find out where I was supposed to go and what I destined to do with my life. 

“Keeping the Faith,” as Mr. Joel states so clearly  involves holding onto the “desire” and the “music that “sets me on fire.”

Billy’s wisdom continues when he sings “you can get just so much from a good thing. You can linger too long in your dreams.” That’s what can happen when you believe all the good things in life are in the past. But here, I must disagree with my musical mentor. I don’t think we have to say “goodbye to the oldies but goodies.”

Instead, we need to put those days in perspective, not up on a memory pedestal as we are reminded that “the good old days weren't always so good.” That’s something we need to remember—sometimes social mores can bind us into corners. 

That became so clear to me recently when I found this picture of my husband and I posed on my parents’ porch, for the “Going off for the honeymoon” picture, one of the required photos in the ‘60’s wedding album. I recall that moment so well. I wore a pillbox hat, a suit with long sleeves, nylon stockings with the mandatory girdle though I weighed barely 100 lbs. The day of our May wedding was a record ninety degrees, yet the thought of wearing something cooler never occurred to me because I accepted the rigid social expectations of the times.

Finding this image got me thinking about how much I treasure my freedom now and  no longer have to worry about social trappings like not wearing white shoes after Labor Day or a hat to church. Now I’m completely unfettered, no more mental or physical girdles for me!

How about you? What do you not miss about your younger days? Then again, what do you miss? I do miss getting letters, those hold-in-your hand personal missives that you can feel and read over and over. But that’s a blog for another day…

So, I must finish with agreeing totally with the maestro when he stresses “And tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems.” For despite all the sadness and the turmoil in today’s world, I have hope.

 So, I sit back in my chair and listen, not to my 45’s, but to the music channel on my TV, sip my wine in my new stemless glass and think to myself, “ain’t it wonderful to be alive.” And plan on living as well and as long as I can while “the rock ‘n’ roll plays” and “the memory stays.”

Yes sir, I am “keeping the faith,” one lovely day at a time.