All posts by Jane

What great parents

A question, Musings, travel,

Many years ago, during an obvious lapse in judgement which turned out to be lots of fun, I agreed to take a group of my high school Spanish students to Mexico.  We all survived.

Diego RiveraWhat I’ll never forget from that trip–made, of course, when I was much younger–was the art.   Everywhere we went were murals with obvious political statements about the government and politics and history of Mexico painted on the walls and ceilings of many public buildings.  The paintings transcended the political message in their artistry and beauty, the vibrancy of the colors, the glorious scope and vision of the muralists.   I immediately became a huge aficionada of the work of them all, but most deeply of Diego Rivera.

For that reason, I was reading about his life in Wikipedia and came upon this wonderful story.  It seems that Rivera was born one of a twin.  His brother died when he was two.  A year later, Diego began his career in art.  “He had been caught drawing on the walls. His parents, rather than punishing him, installed chalkboards and canvas on the walls.”images

How cool is this?   Most parents would probably have punished a three year old, at least discouraged him forcefully from drawing on the wall.   Did he become a great muralist because he was allowed to draw on the walls? Or did his parents recognize his talent even when he was so young and encourage him?  Or were they just the kind of parents we wish we all had and could be?

Do you have a story about how your parents or a friend or relative encouraged you?   Or have you encouraged another person to fulfil a dream.  I’d love to hear.

 

I’m guest blogging

Uncategorized

This has been a tough week for many reasons.  As usual, I didn’t realize that Tuesday really was Tuesday, my normal blog date.

However, I am blogging at   http://www.seekerville.blogspot.com   and hope you’ll drop by.keep calm and what day is it

Why No One Will Ever Confuse Me with Gracie Gold

Olympics, Sports, ,

ice skatesWhen I was six years old, my best friend Linda and I enrolled in figuring skating lessons.  We arrived at the rink for our first lesson, pulled on our new skates, tied the laces, and hit the ice.   We went every Saturday morning for months and about every two weeks, Linda was promoted to higher class and I never left the beginners.  I’d tried so hard.  I followed instructions, I practiced, I pushed myself but never, never moved up to the next level.  I had no idea why not, not until years later when my mother said she always felt terrible for me as I trudged around the ice–but not only on the sharp blades but also on my ankles.  I had–and still have–very weak ankles that couldn’t support me on ice skates.  I skated on two blades and the outsides of my skates.    No way I was going to go up a class when I was “ankling” as much as I was “skating.”

I wish someone had explained it to me.   I wish someone had told me the keep clam and tell the truthtruth.  I wish the instructor had said, ‘Monica Jane, this is probably not the sport for you.”  Or that four-year-old who was quickly moved from beginners had said to me, “Why do you skate funny?”  Or my mother had suggested I not return and given the reason.  I imagine no one wanted to hurt my feelings, but, really, never improving didn’t hurt?

Do you have something you wish some had told you about?  Please share.  It makes me feel so much better.

Me and the Olympics (or, for the grammarphobic like me: The Olympics and I)

Musings, Olympics, Sports,

The first time I had to accept the fact I was growing–oh, no!– older was when I realized  I’d never represent my country in the Olympics.   Not that I have any athletic skills that would have even allowed me to participate snowy mountainin a competition even at the lowest level, but the realization it would never happen hit hard.   Well, not really.  It was one of those moments that reminded me I was no longer eighteen.   In honor of the upcoming Winter Olympics, I thought I’d discuss my brief career as a skier.

In high school, I went on a ski trip to Estes Park.   We stayed in a cheap ski resort which didn’t have chair lifts.  Instead, the lift was like a small garbage-can lid that one put between one’s legs and this–for many of the skier–towed one up to the top of the trail.  Not for me.  This was not friendly to a novice skier who’d had two hours of lessons, then was expected to, more or less, ski uphill.   Every time–every single time–I lost control of the skis, unable to keep them straight in the ruts worn in the snow  And every single time, I fell off the garbage-can lid half way up awk skierthe hill with only one choice:  to walk sideways in those skis I couldn’t control, across the snow and through the trees until I reached the trail.  I’d ski down the trail and start the trek all over.

As frustrating as this was, my best friend had an even worse time.  She stood at the lift station, put the garbage-can lid between her leg.  When the lift pulled her, her skis flew into the air and she fell off on her head after about six inches.   I can’t remember now if she ever got to the top of the hill.

Next week:  how my bad ankles doomed my figure skating career.

 

Skipping Fridays for a month or two or six

Family, George, Musings, Writing, , ,

Snoopy writingIn my efforts to get the taxes together–which I do not do well or happily but feel I’m not alone in that–and working on new writing projects, I’ve decided to write only one blog a week, my Tuesday blog.

I didn’t think I’d like blogging when I first started.  The publicist at my publishing company requested I do that and I enjoy it  During the time after George’s death when I didn’t feel a bit creative, writing, I found a short blog kept me writing.  Also, I’ve been amazed at some of the topics I came upon and I really love it when someone comments.

Please keep up with me on Tuesdays!

The Sound of Approval

Quilt005-450x600I love petting Scooter, my gorgeous long-haired tuxedo cat.   His fur feels like cashmere.  But  the greatest joy is that he purrs, loudly.    He makes me believe–true or not–that I’m the most important being in his life.  Then he leaps off my lap and scratches the furniture and bites his sister’s eaars.  Nonetheless, when I’m petting him, I’m sure we’re communicating.

I wish all beings made a sound which allowed me to understand their thoughts.  Oh, yes, I know many do and often loudly and crudely, but that’s not what I mean.  For example:

I wish those I cook for made a sound like “yummy, yummy” every time they enjoyed that meal or treat.  Of course, the echoing silence coming from them when chewing a dish they didn’t like might be a downside.

Wouldn’t it be great if a teenager made a positive sound when he/she happy studentsrecognized I’d done something right or good or helpful instead of that withering shrug.   Perhaps it would sound something like a dove,  a high pitched “Cool, cool, cool.”   Or, if that’s too much to expect, “Okay, okay.”  Just not, “Whatever.”

Or, perhaps, my boss–as he piled more work on my desk–might make a sound like, “Good job” or “Well done.”   Could be I’d work even harder.

As I think of this, I realize I too should make more positive sounds when something good happens.  Yes, I should actually give my approval in real words.   “Great” or “Thank you” or “I admire you”.

What do you think?

 

 

Scaredy cat

A question, Confession, Hysteria, Musings, , , ,

I’m always to impressed in a movie when people are held hostage and the hero says, “I’ll stay with you if you’ll let the women and children go.”    What a strong, compassionate–and just a little hot–man.

Heroes–like the teachers at Sandy Hook Elementary School who attempted to stop the gun man, who shoved children in closets, who took the shots to save the children from death–they were admirable, true heroes.  I’d like to be that strong.

But would I be like that?  Could I be so brave that I’d trade my life for the life of another person?    I always hope that if I were in such a situation, I’d step forward and speak to the hostage taker in such  soft, dulcet tones that I’d calm them or sing Amazing Grace with so much emotion that the person would realize the need to turnaway from the dark side.  Perhaps such loving foregiveness would shine in my face that  the criminal would suddenly recognize the need to change  his life.

I’d like to so but I’m not at all sure.

haunted barnMany years ago a fifth-grade student talked me in to going into a Haunted House around Halloween.   He promised me it would not be scary   (Hint:  never trust the word of a fifth grader about if anything is scary or not)  But I believed him and we went inside what was a converted barn.   I was just fine and not a bit frightened with the first few stops.  But then a cobweb-covered ghost lying in a casket sat up.  I knew very well this was a teenage kid wearing a costume.  I knew there was nothing supernatural here.   I understood all of this. frightened woman running Nevertheless, as soon as that ghost sat up, I screamed and ran, shoving  small children out of my way.  I pushed aside a sobbing little girl.  I reached the door first and rolled it open, never stopping in my panic.  In that moment I didn’t care if the ghost got everyone else as long as I made it out of the haunted house alive.  ( In the interest of accuracy, I must state I never looked like the picture on the right.)

I am filled with deep shame as I confess this.    But I still hope–given a chance–I have the courage to save an entire island from the heavily armed revolutionaries.   Yes, I could do that–as long as the action doesn’t take place in a haunted house.

Have you experienced any moments that showed a really admirable side of you?  Or, perhaps, a negative?  Please tell me–especially the negative side.  It would make me feel so much better.

 

 

I never know what day it is

A question, Church, Confession, ,

keep calm and what day is itSadly,  I never know what day it is.

I worked for many years in the mental health field.  One of the ways mental health workers use to see if a patient is oriented in time is to ask him/her what day it is.  I’d have flunked that because I might be within two or three days of the week but never knew the exact date.  I always feared if I ever were placed in a mental institution, I’d be kept until, somehow, I chanced to hit the day correctly.

Before I retired, I knew I worked Monday through Friday.  Therefore, if I was at work, it had to be one of those days.  I knew I went to church on Sunday.  Check.

But now that I’m retired, I don’t have anything constant in a week What day is it asked Poohexcept for Sunday.  My writers’ group used to meet on the second Tuesday.  Now, with our present meeting place and conflicts with scheduling, the date hops around.  Fortunately, the person I ride with knows when we meet and reminds me.  Thanks, Kristin!

Yesterday (which was Tuesday), I asked our associate minister when I could make a call on a member.  She said Tuesday and Thursdays are hard for her to make hospital calls.  So I told her, “I’ll make the call tomorrow,” which did not help her schedule at all.    Fortunately, she understands the tangle my brain can be.  I’m making the visit tomorrow–which is, I believe, Thursday.

I’ve set Tuesday as my main blog day but didn’t post yesterday because–you guessed it–I thought yesterday was Monday.  So here is the blog, a day late but here.

What do you forget?  I like to know.  It makes me feel I’m not alone.

No NYRs for me!

Uncategorized

imagesK441ETZRI haven’t made any New Year’s resolutions.   It’s January 10 and I have not confessed any of my bad habits and promised to do better because I know myself.  I won’t.

Gyms and the Y love the new year because people flood in to sign up forgym rat a membership to help them fulfill their resolution of exercising regularly and losing weight.   The regulars–yes, I was a regular at a place called Robin Lynn for three years before they went bankrupt but never looked like the woman in the photo–always allowed the newbies to fill the floor and machines in January because we knew they’d tire out and  we’d have the facilities back a few weeks.

I’m NOT putting down those committed people who make the swimming lapsresolution and keep it.  For me personally, it’s a little artificial to promise to do something on January 1.   Make the resolution when you know you’re going to keep it or feel very committed.    Every March, I resolve to swim in the pool in my complex and I keep that promise 3-6 times a week and keep that until it gets too cold.

What about you?  Did you make any resolutions?  Or did you not?  Please tell me.  I love to know.

Jessica Scott

Guest blogger, ,

 

Back-to-You-Pre-Launch-Blitz-1My dear and very talented friend JESSICA SCOTT has a new book–BACK TO YOU– coming out tomorrow.     I’m participating in the pre-launch blitz for that book.  If you haven’t read her novels, you can look forward to a great read.   She’s in the Army and, in my opinion, is the finest author of military fiction writing today.

Below is an interview with her sent to me by her publisher, Hachette, which is also my publisher but in a different imprint.

You first introduced Trent and Laura a few years ago and readers have been eagerly awaiting their story for a few years.  Did you always know when you first created them in BECAUSE OF YOU that this was how their story would play out? 

I knew they would have a story to tell but telling their story in this particular way, no I didn’t intend it. It took finding my amazing editor along with multiple attempts at trial and error to get them just right. I’m a nervous wreck about their story, but I’m also really excited because I’m very happy with how their story turned out. Plus, hamsters. Who can argue with that, right?

BACK TO YOU is the incredibly emotional story of a marriage at the breaking point.  What or who inspired you to write this story? 

I remember standing in the ops one day and one of the guys was on the phone with his wife. He was telling her how much he was sorry, how much he didn’t want to work late. Then one of the other guys remarked that he always says that but he doesn’t ever mean it. So I had this idea of a man who was so driven to get back to war that he let his entire family and personal life suffer, but I also wanted a wife who people could relate to as well. Laura is Trent’s perfect complement.

In your own personal life, you’ve been the soldier that has deployed to a war zone and the spouse that stayed home and has taken care of the family on the home front.  Which was more difficult for you in your experience?  And why?

That’s a much bigger topic than we have time for but I’ll say this: each one has its own unique challenges. Being deployed, not being able to get home when your kids are crying that they want mommy, that’s brutal. It rips your soul out. But then coming home and your reality doesn’t live up to the fantasy? In some ways I think it’s worse, and that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. As far as being the wife at home? I remember vividly lying awake at night, obsessively checking to make sure my ringer was turned on. I never cared when he called I just wanted to hear his voice. So which one is worse? I can’t really say. But I’m grateful that we’ve made it through each one a little bit stronger, you know?

Which is your favorite story to write—a reunion romances like Trent and Laura’s where each scene is alive with their own history or a fresh romance where they meet for the very first time and everything is new?  Why?

I love a reunion story. I love the idea of being able to forgive and love the person you’re with right then and not the memory of someone. I’m a huge sucker for reunion stories, honestly. I love the reconnection, the noting of how things have changed, of learning to love that person all over again, especially after a betrayal or things didn’t work in the past.

Trent is such a compelling character and you do a beautiful job of showing his survivor’s guilt and the resulting anxiety and fear that provokes in him.  He’s both so alpha and strong and so very broken.  What inspired you to create such a complicated hero?  A real life person?  A culmination of your own experiences?  What you’ve seen yourself in the army?  And were you at all concerned about the way readers would respond to him? 

Trent is going to be hard for people to read, I suspect. He comes close to crossing some boundaries, and I wanted to do that deliberately: I wanted people to understand that coming home from war isn’t cured in a day or a week. It’s a process. Someone like Trent who has bled in combat isn’t going to be okay after a night of magical sex. I know that’s the fantasy, but I wanted something more: I wanted the fantasy that the couple will be strong enough to make it. So for me, Trent is deeply, deeply personal because I’ve seen friends struggle with some very tough choices. And the truth is, there is no magical cure but there can still be a happily ever after if you have someone strong enough to stand with you.

Laura is such an amazing character because she’s done the best for her family at every turn and supported her husband.  But when all communication breaks down with her husband and he just keeps deploying, she serves her husband with divorce papers while he’s serving.  It seems like such a taboo to serve papers while your spouse is deployed—is that true?  And why did you choose to have Laura, the ultimate good wife, respond this way? 

Laura sending Trent divorce papers while deployed I think is the ultimate prohibition. It’s just wrong on so many levels, and yet I wanted to give readers a sense of what could drive someone to their breaking point. Laura is such a strong woman and yet she broke. The strongest of us all have our breaking points. I wanted to show people how hard the war has been on everyone—not just the soldiers deploying but on the kids, on the spouses—but I also wanted to give people hope, too.

Agent Chaos and Fluffy, the family hamsters, almost steal the show with their disappearing acts and they add the perfect amount of cuteness and comic relief.  What inspired you to add them into the story?

Ah Fluffy and Agent Chaos. So for readers who don’t know, we have hamsters. It all started when we volunteered to buy the pre-k class pet. I didn’t realize that this would include home visits for the holidays. Fluffy was the first hamster and she promptly escaped within the first 24 hours. After that, we’ve become a multiple hamster household and well, when they escape, it’s madness because we have dogs and cats who, by some miracle, haven’t actually ever managed to capture one of the little buggers.

This story badly needed something to lighten it up. I thought adding in some escaping rodents would be the perfect thing to break up a really tough interaction between Trent and his kids. They provided a bridge for him to cross, a way to reach them while he was still getting used to them.

Big wedding or small?  Hamsters or dogs?  Sweats or lingerie?

Small wedding. Both hamsters and dogs and cats. Sweats all the way.

Emma and Ethan, Trent and Laura’s kids, are adorable and watching Trent learn how to be a dad again is an amazing thing.  How do you think Trent got so detached from his family? 

Coming home to be a parent again is probably the hardest thing soldiers do. The kids have changed, they have their own wants and needs and, well, they’re not your soldiers. They don’t listen like your soldiers have to. The noise and the chaos and the constant needs are really tough to get used to again, so I think Trent just ran away because it was too much to deal with.

Since this is such an emotionally charged story, was it difficult for you to write?  Or did it come easily?

It was very, very difficult to write. I wanted to push boundaries and create at least a glimpse of what it’s like to come home. I wanted to give readers a taste of the emotions that people go through, the fear, the uncertainty but also the love and the hope and the relief that their loved one is home safe.

Since you’ve been in Trent’s shoes, what is the hardest thing about readjusting to civilian life after a deployment?

The crowds and the entitlement. To this day, I won’t go into crowded stores or wait in crowds. It’s suffocating. And it’s funny because when I first came home, I was so annoyed at people complaining about lines and traffic and school starting. I was just so grateful to be back. Now, I’m much more sympathetic to everyday gripes and groans. I think it’s just part of how we get through our days.