If I Could Turn Back Time

 Thought for the day: If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude. [Maya Angelou]

I reckon we've all had to change our attitudes to survive this crazy Twilight Zone of a year. Fine, I can do that... I have done that. I'm sure you have, too.

But one thing I don't want to change is my darned clock. I mean, why in the name of all that's good and holy would anyone choose to nudge the clock back an hour this weekend? Who, I ask you, is delighted at the prospect of prolonging this year from Hades by adding an extra hour to it? Now, if the powers that be really want us to turn back time, I think they should make it worth our while. Why not crank it back ... oh, I dunno... maybe twenty years or so? Betcha that would garner near-unanimous support.

Could be worse, I suppose. 

At least we don't have to rearrange huge stones to change the time, eh?

                                      

                                                     A handy-dandy guide just for you...

Yeah, I know it's a pipe dream to think we could dig our heels in and forget about changing the clock. (Now if we could move it forward ... like past the election, past the pandemic, past the insanity...)

I trust that, like me, you've had enough of this stinking year. We've had our fill of the pandemic... the needless deaths... the racial divide... the protests and rioting... the toxic political atmosphere... the lies... the venomous hatred. It sucks. All of it. But wait! That's not all! Let's not forget the horrific wildfires, the hurricanes, and the floods. And how about them murder wasps? The brain-eating amoebae? And of course, for me, the worst thing, the most definitive thing, has been my husband's death. Some of you have lost loved ones this year, too. I say ENOUGH, already! We're full of this year. Fed up! Done with it. Then again, so many bad things have already happened this year,  what else could possibly go wrong?

WHOA!!! Scratch that! I take it back. If the zombie apocalypse is coming, I don't wanta know. This year has been for the birds. I tell ya, it's enough to make a saint swear.

Come to think of it, birds, too. Yep, I've got it on good authority that birds are fed up with this year, too. Specifically, ever since five African grey parrots were adopted (from five separate sources) by the Lincolnshire Wildlife Park in London, those angry little guys have been cursing a blue streak. To keep their fowl attitudes from spreading to the other parrots in the sanctuary, the ornery little potty mouths had to be moved away from the others. Quaranteed. So to speak. Hmmmm, I bet that didn't do much to improve their attitudes...

 On the plus side, this year... this pandemic... this unrest... can't last forever. Before we know it, it'll be winter. Then a new year... and hopefully, a better year. A more hopeful year. Less stress. More joy.

                               But FYI: best to be careful this winter. I mean, it's this kinda year...     

 Sure, this year has given us all a ton of challenges, but it hasn't been all bad.  There's been some good stuff, too. Like I found a really good company to fix our air conditioning when it went belly-up smack dab in the middle of our Georgian summer. I've also gotten pretty darned good at fixing toilets, if I must say so myself. Plus, all that hand-washing and disinfecting has made toilet-cleaning easier than ever. It seems the stuff has permeated my skin, so now the toilet gets cleaned every time I tinkle. Woo HOO!  Oooh, and our younger son got me set up on Netflix. Awesome! I loved it, and quickly developed a brand new binge-watching talent. Until it stopped working. (My TV isn't "smart," so he fed the stream through our DVD player... which decided to stop working. ) BUT... a new TV... a "smart" one... is supposed to be delivered today. I also got a cellphone. A first for me. Something I never ever wanted, but I got tired of my friends and family insisting I "had" to get one. So I did. A week ago. I hope they're all happy now. (Just because I have it doesn't mean I'm gonna use it.) Just kidding. A little. At first, I kept it nearby... in its box. Turned off. (sigh) Fine. It's still in its box, but at least, I turned the darned thing on. Baby steps, right?

Anyhow, chins up, people! (Otherwise, you'd be staring at your feet or your boobs all day. And that's just weird.)  Maybe if we were to rate 2020, we'd struggle to give it any stars at all, and we wouldn't recommend it to anyone, but this, too, shall pass. Honest. Sure, if 2020 were a drink, it'd be hemlock or maybe that yummy colonoscopy prep stuff.. If it were a movie, it'd be ... what? Baby Boss, maybe? Sausage Party? Which song...? Oh, I've got it. It'd have to be the dogs barking Jingle Bells. Come on... help. Which song and/or movie do you think suits the essence of 2020? Sock it to me. I've got nothing but time.

                                     Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

                                 

                                                              

                                                                                 

Just Call Me Edison

 Thought for the day: Regret won't change the past. Anxiety won't change the future.

Hi-ya, guys. So how are things going with you?  I know... I know... some days, it feels like a tsunami of anxiety is threatening to engulf the whole darned planet, but hang in there, okay? Just grab yourself a gnarly surfboard so you can ride that wave with a big ol' smile on your face. 

So to speak.

 I mean, we may not be able to change what's happening in the world... or in our lives... but we always always have the power to make the best of it. And we can always always search for the bright spots, the humor, and the hope. If it's too hard to smile, fake it. Whistle a happy tune, people, because we're gonna get through this. Really.

Me? I'm doing okay. I miss the crap out of my husband, but I don't reckon that'll ever change. There's a big ol' empty spot in my heart, but I still have the privilege of knowing a bunch of caring people, and the world doesn't feel empty to me at all. Just... different. It will always be... different. But the stark truth of it is, the long and beautiful saga Mike and I wrote together is over. The ending sucked, and he's gone, but it's time for me to write a new story. My own. 

Yep, time to reinvent myself, because my life ain't over. Not yet. 

Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself. [George Bernard Shaw]

Mr. Shaw was a brilliant man, but I don't think I need to create myself so much as I need to figure out who the heck I am. See, I've been Mike's wife... or Mike's girlfriend... for well over half a century, and after decades of bending over backwards to accommodate him and keep him happy, I kinda lost myself in the process. Now I'm taking baby steps to find out who I am and what I want. Simple things like putting yummy mushrooms in the lasagna sauce... which he never liked... and  getting rid of some stuff he liked... that I secretly hated. As stereotypically 1950s-like as I was as his wife, he was equally as 1950s-like stereotypical in his role, too. He took care of things. Fixed everything. Took care of the financial planning. Paid all the bills. And I've gotta tell ya, as scared as I was at being thrust into the position of suddenly having to do all of that stuff myself...rising to those tasks has given me a sense of accomplishment. I'm a tad surprised... but also proud. 

I don't know how extreme my makeover is gonna be, but I think it's gonna be okay, and so am I. For quite a while, the changes are mostly gonna be in our house. My raison d'etre right now is getting rid of a bunch of stuff and simplifying everything so it'll be easier for my kids to handle when I shuffle off to join their dad. Oh, and I want to turn one of Mike's many storage areas back into a bedroom... and fit it with a couple of bunk beds. Then, the grandkids can stay with me from time to time. Once the coronavirus has passed and a certain amount of normality has returned to everyday life, there may be more changes. Like... I might like to join our local community theater group. Maybe take tai chi classes. Heck, maybe I'll even learn to tap dance. Who knows? It's a new adventure, and I can set my own path. (Hopefully, my woeful sense of direction won't prove to be too problematic...) The jury is still out as to whether the new me is gonna be a blogger... or a writer. I think so. Maybe. Then again, I might be too busy learning how to play the saxophone... 

Heck, maybe we all need to reinvent ourselves to some extent. No matter how old we are, or what our circumstances may be, it's not too late to climb out of that rut to explore new things and learn how to bloom again. How about you? What new things might you try?

Don't ever feel like your best days are behind you. Reinvention is the purest form of hope. Make today your best yet. [Phil Wohl]

Okay, so I'll be Edison... who wants to be Tesla...?

                                     Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

                              Still feeling a little blah? This video's guaranteed to lift you up.

When Characters Revolt

Thought for the day: You can't blame a writer for what the characters say. [Truman Capote]

As you can probably tell by that nifty badge on the left, it's that time again.Time for our monthly IWSG posts. As always, thanks to our fearless leader, Alex Cavanaugh, for founding this fine group, and
 thanks to all the other nurturing guys and gals who've helped turn it into the thriving community it is today. To join this super supportive group of writers and to see links to other participating blogs, please go HERE

Okay, so it'd be terrific if I could say I've churned out twenty thousand or so fantabulous heart-wrenching words on my WIP since last we met, but that'd be a big fat lie. I haven't. On the plus side, I'm still hard at work editing an excellent book for another writer, so at least my brain hasn't completely turned to mush. Yet.

Sure, editing does put some cash in the ol' account, but it really DOES make me happy, too. It's a thrill to help other writers improve their work. Is it also a sneaky way to procrastinate about finishing my own work? Maybe, but I don't care. (So THERE!)

The author whose work I'm currently abetting has a ton of sometimes chilling imagination, so her books are always entertaining. Being able to help make her diamond shine as brightly as possible is very satisfying... for both of us.

Edit... or regret it! That would be my advise for any writer. Shine your baby up as much as possible before sending it out into the world.

[NO... I'm not soliciting for more clients. I WILL return to my own book as soon as possible.]

Okay, enough of that. Let's check out this month's question:

Has your writing ever taken you by surprise? For example, a positive and belated response to a submission response to a submission you'd forgotten or an ending you never saw coming?

Oh heck, yeah.

Sometimes, I think writers are only kidding themselves when they think they're completely in charge of the stories they're creating. Changes from what we think is going to happen to what actually ends up happening are inevitable.

For me, anyway.

The changes were more subtle in my first book Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade. The bones remained pretty much the same, but I certainly never intended for Matt, a conservative young  Republican, to be gay. And I never meant for a lifelong friendship between a white lab tech and a black doctor to turn into something more, either. Those things just... happened. And they felt right.

I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I ended up where I needed to be. [Douglas Adams]
                                                                                   WHAT JUST HAPPENED???

 [image courtesy of unsplash]

The changes that evolved in Explosive Beginnings were more... shall we say...explosive? At one point, I laughingly lamented that my ungrateful characters had staged an insurrection and were running away with the plot. I  mean, the ingrates wouldn't even have existed without me, so how dare they...??? But (sigh) I think they were right to insist on their plot twists and surprise ending. (Maybe one of them deserves the byline...)

Okay, that's about it for now. Time to get back to the editing... but one more thing. I think I may know why I've been dragging my feet a little bit with my current WIP.

I believe I may need to lose a couple pounds and tone up my gluteus maximus a bit before going through that again...












                               Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Keep the Change!

Thought for the day: In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being.We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirits. [Albert Schweitzer]

Yep, it's that time again. Welcome to this month's edition of the Insecure Writer's Support Group meeting... er, virtual meeting, that is. Today, writers all over the world will be posting about the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the ins and outs... of writing. We'll celebrate... we'll complain... we'll commiserate and help rekindle those inner spirits. Whatever we need, this is the place to find it. Humble thanks and a jolly tip of the hat go to Alex Cavanaugh, our fearless ninja leader and the originator of this fine group, and to all of the other fine folks who've worked so hard to make it the huge success it is today. If you'd like to join (It's FREE!) or would like to read some of the other posts, please go HERE

On the writing front, progress has been glacially slow lately. Sales of my new book have been anemic; and reviews, practically non-existent. (sigh) Makes it a tad more difficult to stay focused and maintain enthusiasm about writing books two and three. But fear not. My enthusiasm will return. It always does. Now if only my damned muse would return from vacation...

Let's move right on to this month's question, shall we?

What are your ultimate writing goals, and how have they changed over time (if at all)?

When I was a senior in high school... you know, back in the Dark Ages... I contributed to and helped edit the school's literary magazine. After all these years, I still remember a poem my friend Bruce Troup wrote for it:

Change is never constant;

Constance never changes.

But all things change constantly.

Simple, yet profound, right? I guess that's why it's stuck with me for so long. 

Anyhow, to answer the question, of course my writing goals have changed. I used to think I was destined to be a great writer. Before I learned how to read, I made up the words and pretended to read books out loud. In second grade, a test we took to determine our potential career path (I kid you not!) said I'd be an author... and I believed it. In the summers, I concocted serialized fairy tales, and would sit in the shade of a tree and tell them to a group of neighborhood kids several afternoons a week. In fifth grade, filled with self-confidence, I entered an American Legion essay contest about Brotherhood...

[source: morguefile]

...and I LOST.

Talk about being one deflated puppy. Not even an Honorable Mention! I was crushed, because I'd worked so hard on that essay, and I thought it was so good...

PBBBBT! (That's the sound of my adolescent ego deflating.) Who was I trying to kid? I'd never be a writer.

Then my teacher, Mr. DeGrafft,  who was also one of the judges for the contest, took the time to tell me the judges loved my essay... but it didn't fit within the parameters of what the American Legion was looking for in a winning essay. They wanted rah-rah, Mom and apple pie feel-good declarations about our shared humanity and the inherent kindness of mankind.

 I, on the other hand, wrote about how people seemed to have an us vs. them mentality, so I thought the only thing that would lead to true brotherhood on our planet would be if we discovered a bigger adversary on another one.

Not exactly what they were looking for. But that wonderful teacher... that kind caring man...  rekindled my inner spirit by telling me why my essay didn't do well. He had so much confidence in me, he helped restore some of my confidence in myself. For that, I will always be grateful.

Since then, I've always been involved with some kind of writing, and like everyone else, my confidence levels ebb and flow. (Where's Mr. DeGrafft when ya need him?) Things might be at the ebb level now, but I'm pretty sure the drive will roll back in any day now...

So what's changed? I no longer believe I'm ever going to be a great writer. Nor do I dream about Pulitzer prizes and cheering crowds waiting for me at book signings. I don't expect to be accepted in every anthology I submit to, and I don't expect every story I send to a magazine to be published. Whether or not I ever had any innate talent is immaterial. I'm endlessly grateful for those teachers who instilled confidence in my writing and editing ability, but since I've gotten older, I've adjusted the bar to a more realistic level.

I write because I love to write, and I still love to spin a story. Do I still get discouraged? Sure, I do. But I'm a big girl now, (in more ways than one...) and I don't need affirmation and support like I did as a kid. (But I'd still like it every once in a while...)

That's why reviews matter so much to me. At their best, they show me that I've connected with another human being... and THAT is my overwhelming goal. When I feel a little low, I re-read some of the fantabulous reviews for Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade, and I look at some of the wonderful emails readers have sent me...

and I smile with gratitude. Life is good... even if no alien forces have united us yet.

                                 Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Higher Expectations

Thought for the day: A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.  [Thomas Mann]

I never thought about it before, but now I'm inclined to believe Thomas Mann's quote about writing  may very well be true.

It's kinda like when I was a child. Whenever I had the opportunity to play a piano, I'd sit there for glorious lost-to-the-world hours, pounding and teasing the keys, even though I'd never had a single lesson, and didn't have a clue about what I was doing. I didn't know how to play, and knew nothing about tempo or playing chords; I just poured myself into the experience with reckless abandon. No doubt, the noise I was creating was sheer torture for anyone within earshot, because I didn't give a good diddle about hitting the right notes. I wasn't thinking about the people who were subject to my senseless noise; I was thinking about my own enjoyment.

It's the same with writing. Those who know nothing or care nothing about the basics of writing scribble whatever comes to mind, regardless of spelling, grammar, or whoever might be subject to reading it.  But a writer? A writer expects much more of himself. He wants his words to create something wonderful and truly worthwhile. It isn't enough to use words; they've got to be the right words, and if he's very lucky, they strike the right chord with his readers. Writers don't want to make readers cringe like a certain little girl pounding out those sour notes used to do.

As you can probably tell by that badge up there, it is once again IWSG day, when writers all over the world are encouraged to share their ups and downs with each other. Thanks go out to Alex Cavanaugh, ninja captain extraordinaire, for coming up with this super idea. If you'd like to join this caring group or read the posts of other writers, please go here

Okeydoke. I don't have anything to complain or crow about this month. I'm looking forward to (gulp) being the guest speaker at a book club meeting later this month, and I'll let y'all know how it went next month.

So on to this month's question: How has being a writer changed your experience as a reader?

For life-long addicts to the written word, reading is a vital part of our existence. As a child, I consumed books indiscriminately like a plague of locusts leveling a wheat field. Some books I loved, some I liked, and others I liked less, but I always enjoyed the experience of reading, and never criticized the work. If I was reading, I was happy.

[morguefile]

As an adult, I still read a lot of books. Our house is full of them. Bookshelves everywhere. Books in every room. Books in the attic. If I wanted to, I could build a wall with books. (But why would I want to do that? Then no one could read them.) When I was considering buying a book at a yard sale, Smarticus wanted to know why in the world I wanted another book. I already had hundreds of them. I said, "But I don't have this one." He couldn't argue with that, and neither could the gal selling it. She laughed and gave it to me for free.

But as a writer and an adult, my reading has become much more discriminating, and my reactions are much more critical. I notice misspellings. Bad grammar drives me up the wall. Poor plotting and cardboard characters annoy the stuffing out of me, and poorly constructed sentences... especially in the newspaper... are endlessly aggravating. Perhaps because I employ a pushy nit-picking internal editor when I'm writing, I can't shut her down when I'm reading someone else's work. I find myself judging what I read instead of simply enjoying it. In short, as a writer, I have an even greater appreciation and admiration for beautiful writing, and much less patience for sloppy writing.

I still crave... and sometimes find... books that are so beautifully written, they sweep me away and engulf me in a wondrous world populated by exciting ideas and characters, but it isn't as easy as it used to be. Darn it.

Are you more aware of errors in the things you read than you used to be, or is it just me? Or... are there simply more errors?

                             Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

P.S. I'm experiencing a bit of a split personality today. In addition to being HERE, I'm also guest blogging with the really real housewives HERE

How about popping in over there, too? And it'd be extra nice if you'd sign on as a follower while you're there. It's a super blog run by four super ladies, and they and their guest bloggers always come up with lots of interesting and helpful tips and advise. I'm offering some health tips today... and some of them might even be true!

Time Ain't On My Side

Thought for the day:  I think our house is haunted. Every time I try to look into a mirror, some fat old lady gets in front of me so I can't even see my reflection. 

Time for this old gal to try something new. The Insecure Writer's Support Group has been around for quite a while now, but up until now, I've been content to sit back as an observer. Well no more! The clock may be running down, dadgum it, but it's time to get my sorry butt off the bench and into the game before the buzzer sounds to end the game.

The first Wednesday of every month, participants write a pertinent ISWG post, and this month, for the first time, I'm one of 'em.(You can find a list of other insecure writers who are participating this month by clicking on that participants link.) 

Now then, let's start by addressing the basic issue of insecurity. Am I insecure, and if so, why? A gal named Sheila Kaye-Smith said it best: I am old enough to see how little I have done in so much time, and how much I have to do in so little.

Yep, that's it in a nutshell. I'm an old broad. I'm not particularly upset about being this old, because it happens to everybody, and there's a lot of good things to say about this time of life. But considering I've been an avid reader and writer my entire life, the fact that I've only published one novel in all these years is a wee bit disheartening. Not that I'm not happy with Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade. I am. But for the most part, since it came out, I've been sitting back as an observer... just thinking about writing another book, and thinking about when I could find time to do it, instead of actually doing it.

No more! My butt is off the bench and back into that game, too. The thing is, I'm working on a trilogy. An ambitious undertaking at any age, but even greater for someone with nearly fifty years of marriage under her belt and a whopping crop of thirteen grandchildren. I mean, what if I don't live long enough to finish it?

I say... SO WHAT???

So far, I'm only about half-way through the first draft of book one. Maybe I'll live long enough to complete all three books; maybe I won't. But I am going to keep at it, because that's what writers do, right? We write. And for me, for now, the finally getting around to beginning another book is what matters most.

Thoreau said None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm. That I still have. In spades.

The question for this month is How do you find the time to write in your busy day?

Funny you should ask, because not finding time to write is the reason... no make that the excuse... I used for not getting started on this trilogy sooner. We all have twenty-four hours in a day, and how we use them is a good indicator of where our priorities lie. Trouble is, I wasn't prioritizing writing. At all. I've always been an early riser, but when I got up, I'd have a cup or two of tea, and read the newspaper. If my better half still hadn't shown his smiling face by the time I'd finished devouring the newspaper, I'd check emails. Once my hubby got up, it'd be time to cook breakfast and start the daily routine of chores. One thing would lead to another, and before I knew it, yet another day had passed without me writing a single word of my so-called Work-in-Progress. I made time to read, and time to write reviews, and time to edit for other writers, and to putz around in the blogosphere, but nothing... zip, zilch, zero... no time at all went into the book I supposedly wanted to write. I'd done tons of research in preparation, but when it came to the actual writing... I couldn't find the time.

Dumb, dumb, dumb!!!

Few things are as foolish as hoping old behaviors will somehow present new results. [Robin Sharma]

Clearly, if I wanted different results, I had to change my behavior.

Now? Those delicious early morning hours are spent with a cup or two of tea and my writing notebook. Every morning, I spend a peaceful hour or two with pen in hand, and it feels awesome!!! Now that I'm in the habit, and getting all wrapped up in my book, I'm even finding additional time here and there during the day, as well. Son of a gun! Time I didn't think I had was actually there all along. Bottom line? If you truly want to write, you will find the time.

                             Nice to meet you guys. It's fun to be part of a team again.

Now, for a quick tip of the hat to a gal who definitely knows how to find time to write. Not only has the lovely Julie Flanders written four terrific thrillers to scare the bejeezus out of us adults, (Polar Night, Polar Day, The Turnagain Arm, and The Ghosts of Aquinnah)  but she has now written something that's (ahem) the polar opposite. Tomorrow, her first children's picture book will be released. CONGRATULATIONS, Julie!

                                                                     Here's the scoop:

Baby Moo has a dream. He wants to travel the world and sing on the stage of the Sydney Opera House! While he loves his home at Sunrise Sanctuary, it hasn’t been the same since a piglet named Nathan showed up and stole all the attention away from Moo. Jealous of the new baby, Moo decides now is the time to make his escape and pursue his dream.

But the world outside the sanctuary gates is not quite the fun and exciting place Moo imagined, and he quickly finds himself in big trouble. Moo's friends Missy the dog and Ruthie the cat rush to help him, and land in some trouble of their own.

Lost and frightened, Moo and his friends must rely on each other to find their way back home. Will they ever see Sunrise again?

Release date: September 8, 2016 from Native Ink Press

Links:

https://julieflanders.blogspot.com/p/baby-moos-great-escape.html

Add on Goodreads

Julie will donate $1 to Sunrise Sanctuary, home to Baby Moo and numerous other rescued animals, for each copy sold in September.

                        Here's wishing all the best to Julie Flanders and sweet Baby Moo. 

              [To my regular readers, this will be my only post this week. Seeya next Friday!]
{Oh, crap-a-doodle-doo. Turns out, I may be away from the computer for several days, so it may take me longer than usual to respond to your comments. Sorry. I'll get to your blogs asap.}

                            Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

A Prelude to Change

Thought for the day:  Sometimes it's important to work for that pot of gold. But other times it's essential to take time off and to make sure that your most important decision in the day simply consists of choosing which color to slide down on the rainbow.  [Douglas Pagels]

No telling what kind of pot you might find at the end of a rainbow, but if you drink enough water, you'll be plenty happy to find the kind that's in the picture.

In the meantime, let's enjoy the slide, shall we? This is Labor Day weekend, which of course means... no labor, people! (For you folks in Canada, Australia and the U.K., that's Labour and labour...) It's a time to relax and let things slide a bit. You could say it's the last gasp of summer, or a preparation for the upcoming change of season. Time to forget about baseball, (especially if you're a Braves fan) and start thinking about football. (Even if the thermometer is still reading close to ninety degrees...)

If work were such a wonderful thing, surely the rich would have kept it all to themselves.  [Lane Kirkland]

According to the calendar, summer doesn't officially end for another three weeks, but for all intense purposes, most of us consider Labor Day weekend to be our last hurrah. Our last desperate effort to squeeze in another round of fun in the sun. You can be as active ... or inactive... as you'd like.

There's lots of things you could do this weekend, but whatever it is, I hope you take a little time to ...

escape from the usual grind.









                         
                                           
You could take a nice relaxing bubble bath,

take a nap in the great outdoors,








                                                          or enjoy a good ol' barbecue.

    Don't forget the watermelon!

You could spend the day at the beach,









                                                               or lying in the grass.

You can run, drive, golf, swim, fish, sightsee, or just curl up with a good book. Do whatever the heck it is you want to do, but don't forget...

summer will be over ... and the chairs will be empty... before ya know it.









And so, I raise a cup o' kindness to you, (You can fill it with whatever you'd like)

and wish you all a wonderful Labor Day.

At the end of this Labor Day weekend, I hope you can look back on it and say... It was truly golden.

                   Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

** Images courtesy of morguefile seniorark and perfectlytimedphotos

P.S. Next week, I'll be posting on Wednesday, instead of Friday, as part of the Insecure Writers Support Group. (Yep, I'm a little insecure... I am a writer... and God knows, at my age, I need all the support I can get!) Hope to see ya then.

As Years Go By

Thought for the day:  Time can be spent, but it can't be bought, so we've gotta spend it wisely. (It isn't always on our side...)

Last Saturday was our high school reunion, but Smarticus and I didn't spend all day driving to Maryland so we could attend. It wasn't our hundredth, but in human terms, it was a pretty big milestone. Fifty. (gulp) Fifty. (Maybe we'll attend our hundredth?)

To celebrate that rather auspicious half-century mark, I offer you the following poem about reunions. (Author unknown.)

Every five years, as summertime nears,
An announcement arrives in the mail,
A reunion is planned; it'll be really grand;
Make plans to attend without fail.

I'll never forget the first time we met;
We tried so hard to impress.
We drove fancy cars, smoked big cigars,
And wore our most elegant dress.

It was quite an affair; the whole class was there.
It was held at a fancy hotel.
We wined, and we dined, and we acted refined,
And everyone thought it was swell.

The men all conversed about who had been first
To achieve great fortune and fame.
Meanwhile, their spouses described their fine houses
And how beautiful their children became.

The homecoming queen, who once had been lean,
Now weighed in at one-ninety-six.
The jocks who were there had all lost their hair,
And the cheerleaders could no longer do kicks.

No one had heard about the class nerd
Who'd guided a spacecraft to the moon;
Or poor little Jane, who's always been plain;
She married a shipping tycoon.

The boy we'd decreed 'most apt to succeed'
Was serving ten years in the pen,
While the one voted 'least' now was a priest;
Just shows you can be wrong now and then.

They awarded a prize to one of the guys
Who seemed to have aged the least..
Another was given to the grad who had driven
The farthest to attend the feast.


They took a class picture, a curious mixture
Of beehives, crew cuts and wide ties.
Tall, short, or skinny, the style was the mini;
You never saw so many thighs.

At our next get-together, no one cared whether
They impressed their classmates or not.
The mood was informal, a whole lot more normal;
By this time we'd all gone to pot.

It was held out-of-doors, at the lake shores;
We ate hamburgers, coleslaw, and beans.
Then most of us lay around in the shade,
In our comfortable T-shirts and jeans.

By the fiftieth year, it was abundantly clear,
We were definitely over the hill.
****

[Hmmmph! How can we be over the hill when we haven't even reached the top yet?]

So how did we spend our time in lieu of pretending a bunch of old farts and fartessas still look just like they did fifty years ago? We spent it with youngsters... four of our grandchildren. Rather than feeling old and (hmmmph) over the hill, we played and laughed and felt... young. Okay... young-ish. 

This summer, while our son and daughter-in-law are at work, their kiddos will be spending weekdays at karate camp, which is like a totally cool daycare, with karate lessons, and all kinds of other sports activities, field trips, and adventures. So while waiting for the family to get home, Smarticus and I visited the Civil War Naval Museum in Columbus. We'd been there before, but there was a new exhibit there that we hadn't seen: the Maple Leaf.

This paddle-wheeled steamer, which was built in Canada, (explains its name) and contracted by the U.S. Army during the Civil War, was sunk by a Confederate torpedo, and now rests at the bottom of the St. John's River, near Jacksonville, Florida. This shipwreck contains the largest collection of Civil War military and personal items in the country, and some of the recovered 130+ year-old items are currently on display at the museum in Columbus.

Plate and eating utensils.

Various recovered weapons and other items.

And of course, there was lots of other stuff to see at the museum, too...

Anybody know what this is?

It's the iron hull plate from the Civil War ironclad the Monitor. It was recovered in 1998, and weighs about 375 pounds. [This cool piece is currently on loan from the Mariners' Museum in Newport News, Virginia. Very nice of the Yankee aggressors to share, don't you think...?]

Okay, I don't want to screw up by making this post too long...

So I'm gonna drop anchor on talking about the museum, and move on to the kids.

Kymber looks surprised to have won her school's Student of the Year award, doesn't she?. 

L to R: Kymber, Devyn, Jaiden, and Aaron. Yeah, Aaron is the hambone. Also the one who's fascinated by weird facts, so you know I had fun telling and showing him about some of the disgusting things I know.

Now, thanks to their weird grandma, the kids know about lizards that squirt blood from their eyes, animals that break their own bones as a means of self-defense, beetles that squirt toxic liquid out of their butts,  a toxic bird called, appropriately enough, the patooie, and  they even saw pictures of dead cockroaches clad in tiny costumes. (Which used to be on display at a cockroach museum in Plano, Texas.)

Weird grandma? Maybe, but also a very happy one. No question about it. These kids conquered me and my heart a long time ago, and they still take it hostage every time we visit.


An hour with your grandchildren can make you feel young again. Anything longer than that, you start to age quickly. [Gene Perret]

But ya know what? It is totally worth it...  and one of my favorite ways to spend time.

How about you? Have you attended any of your class reunions? (We went to one... our thirtieth. There were a bunch of old people there...)

Do you, like me, ever look at other people your age and think they look much older than you do? If so, you'll appreciate this joke:

While sitting in my new dentist's waiting room, I noticed his diploma on the wall, and seeing his full name on it immediately brought to mind a tall, dark-haired, handsome boy with the same name, who'd been in my high school class nearly 50 years ago.

Could this dentist possibly be the boy I had a secret crush on in high school?

When I saw him, I quickly dismissed that possibility, because there was no way this gray-haired, balding man with the deeply wrinkled face could have been my classmate. He was way too old. Or was he?

After he examined my teeth, I asked him if he'd gone to Dundalk High School.

"Yes, I did!" he said with a smile.

"What year did you graduate?" I asked.

"In 1966," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"I was in your class!" I exclaimed.

He looked at me closely. Then, that ugly, wrinkled, old, fat, bald, gray, decrepit SOB had the audacity to ask, "What did you teach?"

****

Smarticus included the following in an email of funny stuff he sent me recently, and it puts some of the changes that have occurred in the past fifty years into perspective:

1966: Long hair
2016: Longing for hair

1966: KEG
2016: EKG

1966: Acid rock
2016: Acid reflux

1966: Moving to California because it's cool
2016: Moving to Arizona because it's warm

1966: Trying to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor
2016: Trying NOT to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor

1966: Seeds and stems
2016: Roughage

1966: Hoping for a BMW
2016: Hoping for a BM

1966: Going to a new, hip joint
2016: Receiving a new hip joint

1966: Rolling Stones
2016: Kidney stones

1966: Screw the system
2016: Upgrade the system

1966: Disco
2016: Costco

1966: Parents begging you to get your hair cut
2016: Children begging you to get their heads shaved

1966: Passing the driver's test
2016: Passing the vision test

1966: Whatever
2016: Depends

                                          ( For the record, I still like the Rolling Stones...)

                                     Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.