Empty Nest or Flying the Coop

Marriage, raising a family, taking care of a home and all that these encompass is not unlike a race. One day runs into the next. You tuck them into bed one night and a hundred thousand loads of laundry later the same adorable faces that once looked up with innocent trust into your eyes now show the scorn of defiance. There is no slowing down at this point; rather you gather all of your strength to make it successfully across the finishing line of raising children. The line that once appeared clear in your mind is suddenly foggy. Grown children are moving into apartments, off to college, into marriages, out of the house and back in again.  That day when you become an empty nester is less formidable and slightly more appealing.

Eventually it arrives; usually with a sigh of relief that your darlings did, after all, turn into decent, productive adults. Much like the runner of a race, your legs have yet to slow down, your heart still pounds against your chest just as your feet pound against the concrete. Or stairs, as the case may be. We continue to dash about the house. We sprint to the kitchen sink where too few dishes only half fill the sink. We rush to the laundry room where once lay a mound of soiled clothing, only to find too few pieces to fill the oversized wash tub you were sure you would always need. Your husband asks why you cooked enough for an army; while you are convinced your brood will once again, meander through the door at dinner time. They always did. We are never, even when we look forward to the day, fully prepared for an empty nest. Be you the stay at home mom or the upwardly mobile career mom, home changes once your children move out.

One day you sit on your favorite side of the sofa, look around to find your house has stayed cleaned. Your heart admits what your mind has known. You are an empty nester. Panic sets in at the realization you now live alone with the man you married and raised the grown children with. You cautiously wonder how much you have left in common with this man. Yes, yes, we know. You were so much more hip than your parents. You and hubby had date night. Peel away the layers and what did you discuss? The...children.  It is a stage of life that has haunted the successful and not-so-much successful empty nesters as they take those first few cagey steps into the rest of their lives.

My personal first few steps included Googling, researching and separating the good from bad advice out there on empty nesting. I was left unsatisfied. What advice I did find left me wanting. What I sought was good, solid advice. Much of what I read referenced sex alone. One such article suggested, as empty nesters, we take advantage of the privacy and meander around the house naked. Visions of Peg Bundy danced through my head; an older Peg Bundy groping Al, to be accurate.  I am all for discussing intimacy as an aspect of the fifty-plus crowd. Far be it from me from me to raise my nose and sniff at such topics. It is an aspect though. Not the whole enchilada. As an aside, my once lithe, agile body no longer looks like a duplicate of Heidi Klum. Parading it around the living room might get my husband's attention. It would do little for my self-esteem...or libido, for that matter. (On the up side, my husband is still with me...unlike Heidi Klum's. Who says body tone is everything? Not Seal.)

In light of the lack of information, I contacted two good female friends who are new to empty nesting. Our collective experiences, coupled with advice, is documented in order to shed some light on this

I decided to take my own experience, along with that of two close friends, in order to shed a little light on this much talked about, anxiously anticipated and dreaded time. The three of us are recent empty nesters, all still married to the same men we raised families with.

S.L. Bartlett is an author who delights in the country life she and her family have created in the small town of Onoway, outside of Edmonton, Canada. As the mother of three grown sons, the youngest handicapped, she lends a unique viewpoint.

"I was never a solicitous mother." S. L. began went asked to write on her experience. " My first two boys were raised with what I kindly (to myself) called “loving neglect”, satisfying my motherly duties limited to teaching them to never talk to strangers or weird relatives without my husband or I being present, or stealing candy from stores without fear of serious bodily harm from me, and being kind to animals. But that all changed when my youngest son was born. We were lucky to receive a diagnosis early in his life, four days old, which was unusual for patients with my son’s extremely rare disorder. FOP was not normally diagnosed until the sufferers were two or more years of age, and lucky even then, before more damage could be inflicted by tests that did more harm than good. Because of him, I discovered that my normally sloppy, apathetic maternal instincts were aroused to over-protective mother bear status. They say things happen for the best, and he certainly proved it, for this new behavior drifted to my other sons as well.  More important, having a handicapped child severely curtailed my normal, adventurous proclivity and grounded me, as long as no one expected “super-Mom”.

For twenty years I functioned on this level, keeping my attention span devoted almost exclusively to my boys, most especially my youngest. Mind you, my husband knew I was married before and that I came with a son. I give him all the credit that he was willing to take on a selfish, adrenaline-junky, single mother who modeled her first born in a portable little package that travelled with me on my adventures that were unusual, to say the least. My husband to barely instill enough responsibility in me to ensure I stuck around the house long enough to change diapers and feed the boys before rushing out to chase tornados or some equally exciting foray. My youngest son became my anchor, and I soon had to forgo my search for adventures.

Only a few months ago, my youngest son moved out, eager for his independence, into a very good assisted living housing unit. While I was thrilled for him, it was with an aching heart, selfishly suffering from anxiety and loneliness. My main reason for existence was gone, not to mention my sidekick who shared my sense of humor and eternal fodder for my writing.

My husband and I have never been alone. I already had a child when I met him, albeit I treated my son more as a pet than a child. He was like my faithful puppy, clean, well fed and always by my side on my frequent adventures of my own making. So when my youngest moved out, my biggest fear was that we would have nothing to talk about. Our conversations for twenty three years had consisted of how to get children’s bodily parts separated from various stair railings, or butts out of buckets, or rescue youngest son from the roof of the shed when other two sons wanted to ditch him by using his gullibility against him, or other equally embarrassing but urgent situations. Now that they gone, what possible conversations could we have, or avoid for that matter. Any semblance of intimacy was gone twenty minutes after meeting each other, since my first born, then six years old, felt he had the perfect right to insinuate himself between us and proceeded to interview my date as a potential father. I have to say, my son showed amazing perception, and on his approval, we were married shortly afterwards. Even then, we had to sneak any intimacy in between demands for breakfast, lunch and dinners, help with homework, and late night drinks of water and resulting trips to the bathroom. It didn’t help that I was immediately pregnant, and then a year and a half later, another son, my youngest, arrived.

For the last 21 years, I could not wander from home. Most of the time, I couldn’t go any further than the grocery store, and only if getting a few things and not gone more than half an hour. Occasionally, I could leave my husband with my son as long as it did not involve bodily fluids or male nakedness, even his own son’s. My husband was a typical redneck type. But he was the best father when he made my son full meals when all he wanted was a snack, and helping him with homework (doing it himself while my son watched TV and ate). It became instinct to check everything in the house and make sure my son was safe before I could even leave the house, doors open, to do some gardening, let alone go anywhere.

It is now 23 years later, and husband and wife are alone. We had forgotten how to be a man and a woman, friends and lovers. This would take some adjusting, not to mention I missed my sons and their antics that may not have been funny at the time, but now we found hilarious, recalling them with laughter and fondness. Surprisingly enough, I re-discovered the selfish single woman I was before the arrival of troublesome creatures, and even more surprising, my husband seems to like it. He has even hesitantly accompanied me on some of my newly re-discovered adventures, although he is nervous about it, always having been a staid, calm, sensible type; quite my opposite. However, we have always shared the joy of outdoor activities like fishing and camping, and have taken it up with a vengeance now that my youngest, who could never go camping because of his restrictions, is in safe housing and gone. Before this, my husband usually got to go, and me rarely since I had to stay home. It is very hard to find a babysitter for a severely handicapped child, and I probably wouldn’t have trusted anyone else anyway.

 I find I like being able to just jump in my car and leave, not having to think about it. Perversely, I also miss the restrictions. On some level I suspect I resent my youngest for not needing me anymore, and for brazenly learning the lessons I tried to instill in him. In fact, he learned better than my other two boys, probably because it was far more essential if he had any hope of living his own life.

When my youngest came home for Christmas for a month, I was in my element. However, I was also once again stuck to the house, and lost my independence. I enjoyed being needed again, but when it came time for him to go back, I also admit I was relieved. I had become accustomed to being free again, and since then the resentment and loneliness had eased considerably. It hasn’t even been a year, and I’m being patient with myself. I envy men; my husband doesn’t seem to notice the difference much, but I still find myself checking my son’s old room out of habit before realizing I don’t need to do that anymore. I suffer a brief pang of regret, but as I pick up my keys to go about my business, I find myself smiling. It’s not only the freedom I regained, but also my son’s freedom; the freedom for him to make his own decisions, the freedom of knowing he can handle what comes his way, and that we, his parents and brothers, will always be there whenever he needs us."

S. L. (Sheree) submitted this as a rough draft. The more I read it, the more I decided to leave it as it is. The raw emotion of a mother with a handicapped child comes through. I felt it important to leave that element alone.

My only commentary to the above would be to address a father's adjustment to the empty nest. Men are not, by nature, nurturers. Men teach, they encourage self-reliance and bravery (usually much to our chagrin.) Fathers instinctively know when it is 'time' for children to be on their own.  Generally speaking, husbands and fathers adapt to the empty nest with much more ease than mothers. I do not subscribe to the theory that a working mother conforms to the empty nest as well as a man. Women, working or otherwise, are nurturers. It is that vein that my own story begins.

To the world it appears I rule the roost. I laugh at this misconception. The truth is; my husband happily allows me to have my way until it is time for me not to. It was during one of these episodes when he announced, "No one is moving back in, do you understand?" I nodded with all of the obedience of a wife who knows her husband is right. I would have likely allowed the revolving door that had become our home, to endure. Unlike Sheree, who was forced by her youngest child's FOP, into vigorously insisting her offspring reach the age of independence, I was content to allow mine to lean on me.  In defense of my actions, the great recession had hit full force, alternately throwing families into leaning on each other. I not only enabled. I encouraged. My point being, my husband knew our children were ready. I was the hold out. Hindsight is 20/20.

I asked Dana Matthews to contribute her ideas, as well. A recent empty nester, she has a son and a step-daughter. Much like me, her mother was dying as her children were leaving. Another monkey wrench in the works of transitioning from 'married with children' to 'empty nester' is the death of our parents. This is usually preceded by the caring of our parents. In both our circumstances, we lost our fathers first and cared for our mothers in their final months, days, hours.  

At my request, Dana wrote down some helpful suggestions to consider.

                              Simplifying Life.

First you have to learn to embrace the quiet and live for yourself.  This is hard since you have been selfless for so much of your life.  If you can do that, the rest is easy and fun. 

After you learn to except that there are just the two of you, you start to find things to do together.  At first I thought we had to do big things, vacation, day trips........but then (after exhausting my husband) I realized that little things matter more.  Going to the store together, fixing dinner, eating when you want instead of being on someone else's schedules.  

But what I really like, is after there is no one else to worry about, you can finally start learning who you are. I always knew that life was a journey, but I just didn't see where I fit into it all.  Who has time?  Work, family, dramas......It's not just your children, but your parents too. Then things start to slow down and you can actually think about yourself and what you are about.  I actually had to learn how to enjoy myself without doing it for someone else. 

In learning about yourself, you also see things that need to change.  Time isn't endless any more.  And you know it.  You don't want to waste time on things that are no longer needed.  Below is my insane list of things I have done to simplify my life:

Learn not to be an enabler (should be every ones number 1)

Scale everything down

I use two things to clean, vinegar and dish soap (my husband cleans the main bathroom)

Throw things away I don't use (or enjoy).  Why continue to clean something that is just sitting there year after year

Do things in smaller time frames instead of doing everything at once

I shower when I go to the gym since I swim and I am already wet

I cook my week's worth of breakfast on Sunday

Organization - I calendar things I need to do, it helps me focus

Buy things with the thought of "what is easier"

Take my car through the car wash

Work is just a job, not your life

Make several weekly menus for dinner and rotate them, this helps buy the right foods and I don't have to think about "what's for dinner"

Change or remove as much stress as possible.......I think "is that going to stress me out" 

Know myself and what is important to me and what isn't

I have less bills and auto pay some of them

Listen to my gut/intuition.................it's wrong less than my brain

Save money for things I want to do

Accept the present and meditate when I get tired

 Now I have time to spend doing the things that I enjoy! 

Lastly, I will add my own sage advice. I am happy to report each of my three children manage well without my interference. As do I. In the last eleven months I have:

1) Reconnected with the two wonderful women who helped contribute to this blog. (Thank you again to both S.L. (Sheree) Bartlett and Dana Matthews!)

2) Sheree and I have completed the first book of a series of three books we plan to co-author. "No Gentleman Is He" is the first book. Our baby. It is in the final editing stages. We have, as well, began the second book and I have begun research on my own project set in the gilded age of the 1890s. I have always loved writing from the time I was in my 'tweens'. How awesome that the time presents itself where I can work on what I love!

3) Walked the busy streets of New York City with Dana. (I am not a country girl. Give me the bright lights of the city.)

4) Vacationed in Upstate New York with my husband. (Admittedly, it was to see our son, daughter-in-law and two of our granddaughters. However, we get a nice hotel close by and spend time to ourselves becoming acquainted with the area.)

5) Spent many hours pleasuring myself by finding new styles of clothing, downsizing my house, reinventing my make up style, re-acquainting myself with capable adult children, reading how-to books on writing, finding the perfect vehicle that allows us to travel and yet not drag a huge machine around with us. We settled on a Rav 4 and love it. Many hours have been spent riding through the city and countryside discussing our lives and what we want for the future. Now that I am in the empty nest groove, it will be full steam ahead.

Additionally, I would like to toss in my own advice for those of you looking toward or submerged in empty nesting.

1) Let technology be your friend. Don't shrink from the convenience of smart phones and online bill paying. Go paperless. Who needs all of that extra paper tossed around their house? Not I. In neat folders in my email are receipts with confirmation numbers and bills paid. It could be said this is advice anyone of any age could benefit from; though I find the fifty-some crowd more reluctant.

2) Cut your hair. Yes, Cut. Your. Hair. Gravity pulls our face down with time. A nice short to mid-length cut will make your face look younger. So will highlights (I am blonde on blonde.) Find a decent salon with a stylist you can trust.

3) Take a walk (or ride) at an odd time. Just because you finally can.

4) Revamp your kitchen. Tuck away the mixer/blender/toaster oven. You'll want them for company, especially on holidays when your kitchen is once again in full tilt. You don't need these small appliances every day. Throw away the old, bent flatware. Buy new and enjoy it now that it's only you and your husband. Give away stuff you'll never use again. Dishes, pots/pans, the three extra crock pots you'll never need again. Your children, who are now running their own race, will gratefully accept them.

5) Meal time can be romantic! Like me, your meals as a family probably revolved around roasts, ham, meatloaf; any food that could feed your tribe and fill those empty pits known as stomachs. It is time to invest in steaks and chops. Meals are downsized, hence so is the cost. Indulge.

6) An addendum to number 5 is my own personal formula for intimacy. I am at my least amorous on a full stomach. With an empty house, perhaps it is time to switch your love making routine to pre-dinner time. This works for us...and we're always famished afterward; ready to devour a good meal. Find your own time. Work with your body clocks.

7) Why heat/air condition empty space? Downsize. Many of our friends, along with Monty and I, moved to a townhouse. Give yourself enough room to paint and create that private space we all long for. Office, library, man-cave. It's a fun project you can work on together. Another change we made was to move my husband into his own bathroom. No, he doesn't clean it. I do. However given that he no longer complains about my 'products' and I no longer have to look at his 'shavings', it is more than worth it to me. My happiness is augmented by my lack of falling into the toilet with the seat up in the middle of the night.

8) I opted to keep my oversized high efficiency washer and dryer. I put the over sized drums to work for me by only doing one load of each per week. One load of whites, one load of darks, etc. With the exception of bedclothes, this works perfectly. I do the same with my dishwasher. I fill it and run it once a day. You may find you need to run your less. No longer are you a slave to these major appliances. They now work for you.

9) Decide how often you will have grandchildren over and stick.to.it. They are fun, keep you young and on your toes. They are not yours, however. Nor should you take on the responsibility. There will be exceptions, of course. Our Scarlett was hospitalized, so we took the other two older children for two weeks. That is an exception. That they cannot find a sitter for a night out is not. Stick to your guns. Grands should be enjoyed not burdensome.

10) As much you need time to reveal yourselves to each other again, it is as important to respect each other's space and time alone. My husband is a man of great faith. Each morning he spends one to two hours with his bible and research books. I could wake up and start talking. He would allow me because it's the kind of person he is. I don't. I want him to have this time that brings him personal fulfillment. This is not an interest we share. God is important in my life. Church is not. Although I have encouraged him to go without me, he enjoys his time alone with his faith. If I could find a church where the people did not equate being a Christian with being a card carrying member of the conservative movement, it might work. As it is, I leave more confused than when I entered. Still, I have great respect for the person he has become through his faith...and that he can have such faith without one iota of judgment. I, on the other hand, am a political junkie. I can go on a non-stop rampage on the virtues of liberalism. He not only agrees, he encourages my free thinking. He allows me time to write, visit friends, take trips to NYC with my cousin and basically enjoy my personal time. I try to do the same for him. You will not always enjoy the same interests. Trust your relationship is strong enough to survive a few differences. You'll come back to each other stronger and more interesting.

Give yourselves time to get to know each other again. To quote one of my favorite songs: "Do a lot of catching up a little at a time."

Please feel free to comment. I would love it if you decided to follow my blog.

Leave the Past Where It Is or... Progressive Thoughts

I fully intended my next (long overdue) blog to contain details of the trip taken by my cousin, Dana and I to New York City. What a grand city it is! As anxious as I am to share our adventures, a gift she gave me on the morning of our departure threw me in another direction.

As it happens, the short trip from Delaware to New York City was taken partially as a birthday celebration. Dana surprised me with a movie. "The Help".  Hmmmm, it takes a good movie to hold my interest. Still, she assured me I would like it.  I set it aside and off we went to the Big Apple.

Last Sunday, after a quick trip to Costco, my husband slipped it in the DVD and we cuddled on the coach preparing to be entertained. Entertained? By all means, with an exceptional cast. Thought provoking? So much so that the political blood that runs through my veins demanded I put the NYC trip on the back burner long enough to blog on the effect this movie had on me.

The Help, based on the book of the same name written by Kathryn Stockett, depicts the town of Jackson, Mississippi in the 1960s. It is the year, as much as the actual movie, that gave me pause to think of what used to be accepted as common place in this country. I love this country as much as anyone else born here. Still we must be honest. It was founded and remained a country of white male supremacy for most of its existence.  Though the message brought to light what was suffered by blacks, especially black women in 1960s Jackson, it holds true that unless we teach our children otherwise, the fights we have bitterly encountered will be for naught.

I see it every day, all around me. Today's young women have carelessly cast aside the hard works of the Gloria Steinems, the Betty Friedans and before them the Susan B. Anthonys. The young African Americans who take for granted the Rosa Parks and Martin Luther Kings of this country. Born in 1956, I remember when a woman didn't have a choice over her own body. One swipe of a pen and we've lost that right again. I recall the young Dr. King being shot down, taken from his family and from us. If not for the momentum he gained and passed forward to the next generation, The Help would be a documentary of life today. Bet on it.

Four years ago, two of the best and brightest ran against each other in the Democratic Primary. A black man and a white woman fought for the nomination. They took the country by storm. Regardless of who won, we the people would be the recipients of their progressive thoughts and actions. I am not sure we will remember who eventually run against the winner! What I will remember is watching the celebration in Grant Park, celebratory tears streaming down my cheeks. Now, we have a political party pushing to take us back to those 'glory days' of the 1960s. They will sing the praises of the founding fathers, leaving out the part that most were slave owners who married women with no rights.

Don't let them. Teach your children and grandchildren what was and could well be again one day unless we watch with vigilant eyes. Be ever watchful, lest we once again become 'The Help".

Musings on November

November 22, 2011. I roll out of bed, my mind already spinning with all that has to be accomplished. Thanksgiving is in two days. The still frozen bagged turkey has to be transferred from the fridge to the bucket of cold water I insist is the only proper way to thaw it. I make a mental note to have the hubs fill the bucket as I trip over the basket of cleaned items that must be put back in my bathroom. A sense of sleepy achievement swells in my chest. I managed to get both upstairs bathrooms and my dressing area thoroughly cleaned the night before. This, on the heels of having cleaned two entire floors below me, is cause for celebration. It's part of who I am. I must have a clean, organized environment in order to function. It is akin to my RA. I have learned to live with it.

Before you open your mouth to let an "Awwww, she has RA", don't bother. Sympathy is wasted on me. I have no use for it. There are many diseases much worse. My parents died from cancer, my sister-in-law died from ALS, my co-author's son has FOP. My minute RA is hardly worth a mention. Truthfully, I am likely more active than you.  

I toss a pink hoodie, two pair of go-to jeans and several socks in the open suitcase beneath my bedroom window before heading downstairs. After Thanksgiving Day, when two of my children and their families burst into my house for our traditional feast, the hubs and I will head to Upstate New York to visit with our youngest son and his family. I shudder at the thought of traveling on Black Friday Morning through Philadelphia traffic one scant night's sleep after a day of cooking and cleaning the remnants of a kitchen that will surely resemble a war zone. On the other hand, is there ever a good time to travel through a maze of Philadelphia traffic?  

 Once downstairs, I turn on the laptop and start a list of sundry items I'll need to pick up tonight. My fingers are typing a list while my mind fast forwards to 'the book'. Butterflies dance through my belly as once more, the realization that it is written hits me. From Chapter One to Chapter Forty-Three, it is written. First six chapters edited. No longer aware of my list, my thoughts are focused on "No Gentleman is He." "We did it," I murmur with a smile for perhaps the thousandth time in the last two weeks.

 It didn't hit me when I typed the last word. In fact, the last word was only the last word until the edits. It threw me for an overjoyed loop when my co-author sent back the first few chapters of edits. Like a ton of bricks. The first in a series of Historical Romances set in various geographical locations during the American Revolution.

It was then I noticed the date. November 22. It is the anniversary of President John F Kennedy's death.  Yet another piece of American history; unlike the war for independence, it is one I remember. Second grade elementary school, Mrs. Evan's and Miss Foster (no one was Ms. in 1963) walked in front of me, barely aware of their surroundings, let alone my small form a few steps behind them. It lives in the hearts of everyone in my generation and is irrevocably linked to this time of year.

My attention drifted to life in the ensuing 48 years since that fateful day; both mine and life in general. I am relatively sure President Kennedy would be disappointed in our country today; as would the founding fathers that are sprinkled throughout the series of books my co-author, Lynette Willows, and I, are writing. Still, we have come a long and great way since 1963. The technology alone is mind boggling. The internet, Ipods, smart phones, DNA, MRIs...unfathomable forty-eight years ago! I wrote a book with a friend from Canada whom I would have not met without the internet.

On a personal note, my own life has seen many changes. I have married my soul mate. A man who still fills the turkey-thawing-bucket at my request along with loving me the way he did all those years ago. We've had three incredibly children who have bestowed ten amazingly wonderful, healthy grandchildren upon us. We have buried both of my parents and after a tumultuous relationship my only sibling, she and I have come to terms and learned to be friends.After thirty plus years of a successful career I have now switched gears and written the first of several books.

On November 22, 2011; I have rich memories, both happy and heart-wrenching, to carry me through. And much to be thankful for. 

No Gentleman Is He

No Gentleman Is He

Co-Authored by:

 Carley Bauer and Lynette Willows.

After six months of writing interactively with Lynette Willows in what could only be described as an impassioned frenzy, it dawned on us that we created numerous characters with excellent storylines. The decision was made to branch each of these stories into single title romance novels; all set during the American Revolution in various geographical locations with assorted characters.  After tossing around which characters and story to put in manuscript form first, we decided on Cassandra and Colton, set in 1775 Virginia. One line in the story stood out as the only appropriate title. Hence, "No Gentleman Is He".  Below is a brief back cover description of our work.

Young, beautiful and widowed in a new land, where Cassandra Courtney Brooks and her deceased husband dreamed of raising a superior breed of saddle horses, she found herself left with four horses, living in a tavern attic and her scant savings depleted when her husband perished. With a resolve to see her envisage to fruition, the young widow accepts the scandalous position of steward at Varina Farms, rather than return to the aristocracy she left behind in England.  She is soon forced to question the wisdom of the adventurous spirit that led her to a new life when she finds herself enamored with the lusty and dangerous owner.

Born in the image of his dark skinned great-grandmother, it was rumored Colton Rolfe carried the savagery of his Indian ancestors, as well. Scorned by his father, Colt grew into a man of ill temperament who's only true love was the wild equine beasts on his plantation. His desire to breed his horses with the superior saddle breeds of the newly widowed Cassandra Brooks left him defying all societal rules when he offered her a position at Varina Farms.

She needed only a place to house her horses; he wanted nothing more than a steward. Both fought the attraction, each in their own heart knowing they could never overcome the insurmountable odds. Their story unfolds to find Colt's growing resentment toward the crown's taxes complicated by the discovery that Cassandra's father is a titled Englishman. The murder of a young woman on his land points directly at him. Now she must face the truth. Could the county be right? Is Colton Rolfe a cold-blooded killer?

A Degree...Really? Or What Are They Teaching in Schools These Days?

Belonging to several writing communities along with networking among other aspiring and published writers, I am left with one question. Does anyone teach proper English any longer? I am the first to admit the advent of the calculator saved me a multitude of mathematical errors in my day. Although math has never been second nature to me; through the years I have mastered 'it'. Also, I do not proclaim to make a living as a mathematician.

 Technology also allows us to use grammar and spell check on our handy dandy laptops. I still believe a common sense, basic language skills approach works. No one asks for twenty-four/seven perfection. I confess, while on IM, banging out a rough draft or in a chat room I pound out words at record speed that may contain an error or two. However if I am blogging, writing an article, etc, I use a word program as a backup.

I am floored to hear the same person who cannot distinguish between "there, their and they're" profess to have spent four years in college. Do they buy a degree? I assure you it was not earned. I am left wondering exactly how uneducated the people we send out into the work force are. This is basic elementary education, not rocket science.

Numerous articles have sprung forth in recent months regarding the mass production of romance books and the lack of editing. Not only is this evident in self-publishing but among well respected publishers. A few How To books are now suggesting we re-edit our own books. Perhaps it is a prerequisite for those who want to avoid blaringly obvious blunders in the finished product. Might I suggest as well, if you intend to write professionally, invest in a word program or...Lern ta spel.

Versatility in Writing or How to Uncover Five Unknown Facts

I wish to offer a big "Thank You" to S.L. Bartlett of http://romancethethrillquill.blogspot.com/for awarding me one of the five "Versatility in Writing" Awards. It is greatly appreciated and hopefully somewhat deserved.

The policy is that you also give this award to five deserving bloggers along with disclosing five things no one knows about you. The first I have to forego as I shamefully must admit to not reading five blogs with enough consistency to recommend more than three. (I am a newbie to blogging, though not writing.)

1) http://jobourne.blogspot.com

Joanna Bourne offers invaluable advice to aspiring authors. As she writes Historical Romance, I find her blog useful and humorous.

2) http://romancethethrillquill.blogspot.com/

I have long been a fan of S.L. Bartlett's writing. I would happily set aside a purchased book to read her latest Romantic Adventures or Blog.

3) http://aliciastucky.blogspot.com/

She inherited my love of writing.  

My List:

1) As attested to in my only choosing three blogs, I break rules. (Yes, I could have lied; easily found two more blogs.) I find rules a nuisance. They are an unnecessary restriction that blocks creativity. I love to push the envelope, break the rules and above all question authority. Yes, I was a rebellious teen who drove my parents to madness. No worries, my payback come in the form of my oldest child. There is a glitch in my thinking that makes me believe a slight twist will make anything a little better.

2) I still have my dad's favorite shirt. The one I bought him for Christmas one year.  The color enhanced his blue eyes. The ones that shone with brightness before cancer and chemo sucked the life out of him. RIP Dad.

3) My nails have not been polish-free since I was seventeen.  There is no reason for a lady not to have nice hands.

4) For five years I was the president of a Father's Right's group. (They asked; I accepted the position.) I helped create laws, wrote a column in our monthly news letter, spoke at legislative hall and went on television several times.

5) I possibly have the world's worst singing voice.

Animal Rights Activist or Black Penis Envy?

I gave thought to the prudency of broaching what could possibly be an offensive topic. After all, a writer aspiring to be a published author in the near future could make enemies. Any controversy in the romance genre, which I write and network, rarely extends beyond subjects that sell books. What will the reader accept and purchase, etc. It occurred to me, am I really a writer if there are topics I avoid in my personal blog? Is a blog no more than a means of networking or is it a vehicle by which I can get my ideas out there; make people think? There are times when a writer should not merely rock the boat. We must tip the boat over and watch as everyone scrambles to safety. This is one of those times.

After watching a disappointing (to Eagles fans) Sunday afternoon Eagles vs. Giants game, the hubs and I went to the local grocery store. The deli, looking like it had been through a war with all of the pre-game orders, was now void of any activity. Monty (hubs) asked the clerk, a nice looking young black man, if we needed a number. He politely replied, no, he would be happy to take our order. In a laughing voice he added, "You're not Giants fans, are you?"

After assuring him we were not, a spirited discussion regarding the 'damned Giants" and Michael Vick's hand injury ensued, as he filled our order. Just as my husband explained that it was Vick's right hand (he throws with his left) that was injured, the customer behind us rudely announced it was Vick's comeuppance. "He is finally feeling a little of the pain he put the dogs through", he ranted.

I turned to the uninvited participant of our Eagles cheering section. "Vick's has paid his debt to society." Turning my attention back to the discussion, we were once more interrupted by the opinionated middle aged pasty skinned man behind us.

"He has not yet begun to pay down his debt!" (There was more but I will spare you.)

Sighing loudly, I turned back to see he was averting his eyes from my husband and I to glare at the clerk. In that moment it became clear the discussion was not so much about animal rights and Vick's prior conviction as it was his skin color.  Never being one to let an opportunity for a little rubbing of salt in what was clearly an open wound with this intruder; I proceeded to count off the numerous accolades of Michael Vick, topping it off with, "President Obama praised The Eagles for giving him a second chance."

After wiping the froth from his mouth, he (still avoiding eye contact with me) told the clerk he would see Vick's fall. "You just wait!" He rampaged.

The clerk looked over the counter. In a voice that had not an iota of sarcasm he asked, "Sir, are you a Republican?" He then looked over at my husband and me adding, "Republicans always seem to fly off the handle over these things."

We burst out laughing and left him to deal with the irate customer behind us. We were fortunate in that we could walk away. The clerk couldn't. He has to listen to the rage of a man who I am convinced didn't give a fiddler's damn about Vick's conviction. He has been emboldened by the racism that has reared its ugly head in this country.

In conclusion, I am neither an animal rights activist nor someone who would harm animals. I am a citizen who believes once a debt to society is paid, we move on. Furthermore, I am not someone who believes in bulling someone because I am in the position to do so. Above all I am a person who can enjoy a conversation with various people from different backgrounds. How much more enriching my life is; than those who limit themselves with their own anger.