“You cheating son of a bitch!” Muriel screamed at him.
That’s the first line of my novel, Death in Disguise. It took me ten years to get that sentence on paper to my satisfaction—not because of writer’s block. I wrote the first draft in a few months. But then fear took over.
Not fear of rejection from publishers. That’s part of the business. This was deeper: fear that my story wasn’t good enough—that I wasn’t good enough. So it sat on a shelf.
We talk a lot about writer’s block, but not enough about writer’s fear. For me, it was perfectionism, tangled in the belief that my debut had to be flawless or it wasn’t worth sharing. That kind of thinking leads to silence.
In those ten years, I wrote constantly. I filled binders with stories, red-inked drafts, and characters I loved. But envy started to creep in. Artists hang their work. Musicians perform. Writers? We wait to be read. Unless we’re published, our creations often stay invisible.
Eventually, I took a class called Writing from the Heart. It broke through the perfectionism. I began to understand that perfection is a myth—and often a trap. Growing up as a performer, I believed hard work equaled flawless results. In writing, that’s rarely the case. Without feedback, I kept polishing drafts in isolation, terrified to let them go.
I tried sharing with family and friends. Some promised to read but didn’t. I took it personally—maybe too personally. I confused their silence with rejection. I let it hurt my relationships, when really, it wasn’t about me. People have their own reasons. I had to learn that support doesn’t always look like a critique.
Eventually, my parents read a draft—and loved it. My daughter even edited one and said, “Mom, I couldn’t put this down.” That was the moment I started to believe in my work again.
I decided to publish Death in Disguise independently—not because I wasn’t good enough for a big publisher, but because I wanted full creative control. It was a steep learning curve, but I embraced every part of it. After years of fearing imperfection, I took the leap. I made the baby—I wanted to deliver it myself.
We all have voices in our heads—old mentors, harsh critics, even well-meaning family members—who plant doubt. But writing isn’t about impressing anyone. It’s about sharing something true. Screaming into the forest and hoping someone hears.
My book is finally out. I’m proud. Nervous. Ecstatic. And yes, a little scared. But this time, fear isn’t the driver. I am.
It’s Friday morning, exactly one week from my uncle’s funeral. Family is headed back to Florida and for the first time since the death, the house is quiet and the stillness overpowering.
It’s a surreal morning. I had set the alarm on my cell phone for a seven o’clock wake up but forgot to turn up the volume. I hear pounding on the door and shoot out of bed confused.
“We need to leave in ten minutes!” My daughter yells through the door. This morning is the first in a series of physical therapy appointments she has, post-back surgery. “We can stop at Dunkin’ Donuts on the way. They have great breakfasts and awesome coffee.” This is a dig against her brother, my son who lives and breathes Starbucks.
I brush my teeth; throw on some clothes and stumble, still half-asleep into the hallway. She is standing by the front door with my purse in one hand and my keys in the other. I find my shoes and struggle to get them on my feet. She ushers me out the door.
We get into my mini-van and I’m seated in the driver’s seat. A revelation hits me, I’m awake and going somewhere. I slap my face a time of two and turn up the radio. Something has to wake me up. I’m driving for goodness sake!
“Dunkin’ Donuts is right around the corner. You can get a large coffee,” daughter tells me.
Before her surgery, my daughter was a three times a week Dunkin’ Donuts regular. We enter the coffee shop. She waves at the staff and rattles off what she calls her regular order. The counter person puts this into the register and looks at me.
I don’t have a clue what I want. Daughter and counter person spit out several adjectives describing food and beverage choices; eggs with bacon and toast, no toast, no egg, cheese, no cheese, bagels, coffee, iced, hot, latte, espresso, creamer, no creamer, mocha, mint, raspberry.
“Well?” Daughter asks.
I think I heard one of them say coffee, hot. I remember, the other day after daughter’s post neurology appointment we stopped at Sheetz, a regional gas, restaurant, and convenience store for coffee. That coffee, ordered for me by daughter, I really liked. “What was that?” I ask her.
“Iced, white-chocolate, raspberry with soy creamer,” daughter replies but for some reason I can’t wrap my head around all the words.
“Raspberry, chocolate,” I say. Miraculously, a breakfast and hot drink are handed to me and we head back to the car. I drop daughter at physical therapy and head back home.
Walking in the front door, I smell something dead and rotting. I check for the dog and cat. They are both accounted for and alive. Down on my hands and knees, I sniff the carpet, the couches and the afghans. Everything smells like it is supposed to. I’m stumped and tell myself I’ll deal with it later.
It’s been two weeks since I opened my mail or answered my business phone. Life literally has been at a stand-still. I leave the smell of the living room and head upstairs to my office. It’s a business disaster. Piles of paper and files have shifted around so many times in making room for extra, visiting family that I no longer know where anything is located.
I fire up the computer and find over three-hundred e-mails needing my attention. My office phone is blinking, ten missed messages. I’m so overwhelmed and exhausted I don’t know where to start or how to prioritize. This is grief and stress, I tell myself.
I sit in my office chair, close my eyes and do some deep breathing. I tell myself an altered mantra I learned at an acupressure seminar months ago. I have all the energy I need. My body is taking in the energy around me, re-filling where I am depleted. I refuse to let things or people take away my power or energy.
I open my eyes and see five minutes have gone by. That’s okay; I feel refreshed and know what direction to take with the clutter. The dog and cat get into a spit and I need to intervene. I can feel my energy draining and have to fall onto my office couch before I collapse. So much for the mantra working, I tell myself and cry.
Cried out, I lay there watching spider-webbing cracks in the ceiling paint. The house is so quiet. I didn’t realize how much the family being all-together helped keep each of us afloat through the past two weeks. I push myself to go back downstairs; I’ll deal with the office chaos later. I quickly move past the smell of death in the living room and back to the bedroom.
There are several beds we’d assembled for extended family. I decide there’s no time like the present to strip the sheets and start reversing the process I started two weeks ago. The beds come apart fairly easily and I’ve stowed them, for now, in the dining room next to the left-over paper plates, cups, napkins and plastic ware from the post-funeral get-together. I can’t deal with the things in this room right now. I’ll get to it later.
I have enough time to shower before returning to pick up my daughter. I grab some clothes from the laundry basket in the living room still waiting to be put away. What the hell is causing that smell?
I shower, pick up my daughter and head home. “There’s a smell,” I tell her. “When I open the front door, find it.”
We open the door and the smell is obnoxious. Again, I get on my hands and knees and feel more like a police dog looking for illegal contraband.
“This would be a good time for a picture,” daughter says. “Did you smell the fireplace? The other day we heard birds in there.”
Birds: Our chimney does not have an enclosed top. Every year starlings nest on top of our flue. When the eggs hatch, we have our own bird sanctuary. We can hear the parents fluttering up and down the chimney, baby birds chirping, singing and screeching. We can tell when a parent bird is bringing food back to the nest by the excitement coming from the behind the bricks. Eventually, the babies learn to fly and everything goes quiet until next spring. I don’t know why there would be a dead bird in our chimney in July.
I lean in the direction of the fireplace and don’t have to go any further. Sh-t, it is a dead bird in the fireplace above the flue. I open and close the flue several times hoping the bird body will fall and I can dispose it. Nothing happens.
A crazy thought, maybe I can smoke or incinerate the body with a fire. Okay, I know its July, but it is cool enough outside that I can turn off the air conditioner. I open the flue, turn off the air and toss a Duraflame log in the fireplace and set it ablaze.
My daughter and I sit on couches watching the dancing flames and my son comes in to join us.
“Reminds me of camping,” he says.
“Reminds me of my step-mom raising and killing her own chickens for food,” daughter replies.
“They’re making a new product called Soylent,” my son says. “It has all the nutrition anyone needs. Soon we won’t have to worry about food.”
Conversation lulls with the flames and both kids leave the room to live their lives. I’m alone with the cat nestled up beside me. The Duraflame log is half its original size but continues to deliver a calliope of blue, green, yellow and orange flames. The house is so quiet.
I realize what I’m really doing is cremating the bird and flash back two weeks ago. Corner’s reports, probable causes of death, cremation and internment paperwork, planning a get-together for everyone post funeral, setting up beds, buying and making food for everyone, military send-off with Taps and a tri-folded flag while we stare at Uncle’s portrait and the urn containing his ashes. It was almost one-hundred degrees that day and with high humidity. Everyone was drenched in a mixture of sweat and tears.
The fire is nearly out now. I don’t smell death anymore but it’s all around me. Every room in my house has at least a small remnant of the past two weeks. I can walk here or there and hear snippets of conversations between family members. I can smell the scent of various shampoos and soaps everyone used. My brother left some cigarette butts behind on the front porch. My mom left her ice pack in the freezer. Aunt Mary left her socks and my dad forgot his belated father’s day card. My uncle’s picture is on the mantel of my fireplace. He is smiling.
Maybe, death is not all around me but snippets of life. Sure, my alarm didn’t wake me up but I got up. I got to see my daughter blossom, knowing she is finally getting well enough to join society. Her car which has been dead since surgery, is going to be fixed free of charge. The smell in the chimney is gone and the method I used got two of my kids together for a nice conversation. I have remnants of the past two weeks all over my house but I got two weeks with people I love more than anything. We had a death to attend to, but in his passing, I reconnected with very close cousins I lost touch with over the years. We laughed, smiled, sang, told jokes and reminisced about my uncle and our entire family. I had expected people to stay maybe two hours at the get-together. Most stayed at least five.
My house is very quiet and I’m crying. But I realize, this is not the ending. This is just the beginning of a new chapter for all of us. I should- will embrace finding the how and where we go from here.
That was the line my daughter hit me with when she came home from work. It was an interesting comment since I had just finished this blog on that very topic but was still looking for a title. I’m going to plagiarize her comment.
I hate technology. Designed to make my life easier but in long run I think it makes it more complicated. The goal of this morning was a simple task of outlining a curriculum for class this afternoon. I fired up the computer, started the voice recognition and sat down to do some dictation. The computer acted as if it had never heard my voice before.
I re-calibrated the microphone and started from scratch. The machine continued to act as though I’m was speaking Greek. This meant for every sentence I typed, I had to go back and find the correct words the voice recognition replaced for mine. On days when I have a lot of time this is not a big deal. Today was not one of those days.
Now I can hear you saying, why didn’t you just type? The answer is because I have a bum arm and am supposed to let it rest. Consequently, me and the voice recognition system went round and round.
I finally got it running fairly smoothly and sat down to type. I completed my paper and hit print. We have a Wireless Network in my house. That means I can be on the second floor hit the print button and the paper will print on the first floor. This did not happen.
Last week something happen with our router and the wireless stopped working. Since then, I’ve been dragging my laptop to the printer so I can connect the two by cable. Yesterday we thought we’d fixed the wireless router. So this morning when I hit the print button I expected to go downstairs and find my prints waiting. What I found was nothing.
I trudged back up the steps and checked my laptop. A message read, can’t talk to the printer. I think, so much for the wireless fix. I unplugged the equipment from my laptop and take it downstairs to try again. Nothing happened. I can’t get the printer to function at all. I think, there’s a new printer still in the box on the second floor, I’ll quickly set up that one.
I found the printer and set it up. It’s the exact same printer as the one downstairs so it should not have been a problem.
I hooked my laptop with the new printer and hit print. Nothing happened. I realized there was a disk that I’m supposed to install. I figured since they were the same printer I would not need additional software.
I popped in the disk and hit install. An error message occurred. It read, no drivers found, installation unsuccessful. It directed me to click on a link for more information. I did this and It read, you ding-a-ling you should not have your laptop connected to the printer while trying to install printer software. I didn’t know that.
I unplug the laptop from the printer and tell it to reinstall the disk. The computer cranks away and another error message pops. It read, if you really want to print do a dos-e-doe, twirl around, clap your hands and agree to sell your first born child. After you sign that you agree with this try to reinstall the software. So I signed and waited. Another error message popped. It said, I’ve decided we’re not printing today, so sorry for your bad luck.
I decided to write the information I typed onto paper. I’m in the process doing this when the computer tells me it’s going shopping to get software upgrades. There’s no time to think about the idea. It simply said goodbye and my screen went blank. I can no longer access my document.
I restarted the computer and it informed me it has to install all the upgrades it found before it abandoned me. Estimated time before I can use the machine is ten minutes.
Fine, I needed to eat lunch anyway. I heated up some leftover spaghetti from last night’s dinner and ate while standing at the kitchen sink. After all I only had 10 minutes before the machine allows me back to work and there was a lot I needed to do.
Everything complete, I restarted the programs but couldn’t find my file. I looked everywhere. It was as though I never wrote it. I suppose it’s possible I never saved the document; however, I typically save papers every so many paragraphs. In my frustration maybe I forgot this time.
After I searched files for about a half hour, I felt like throwing the printer and the computer out the window. Logic stepped in and instead, I put on my shoes and went for a drive. What I needed was a change of scenery. I decided the comic book store was the place to go.
At the comic book store, they were playing electronic music reminiscent of the group Tangerine Dream from the seventies. The store had lots of eye catching, multi-colored paper covers to greet my eyes. Titles that splashed the exploits of superheroes, imaginary universes and action, adventure films surround me. Familiar friends like X- men, Wolverine, Ironman, Star Trek, Star Wars and Dr. Who were only a few. The guy behind the desk was more than interested in shooting the breeze for a few moments.
Those few moments in a pop-culture environment with conversation having nothing to do with reality was exactly what I needed. Feeling refreshed I headed home to tackle my technology nightmares.
Back upstairs in my office I once again looked at the printer, laptop and thought, I’m going to give this one more try. Once again I tried to install the software and once again the computer complained. It told me to click this, click that, say three Hail Mary’s and eat a strawberry yogurt with granola. I’m not going to let you print. I’ll show the machine who is boss; I’m going to turn this over to my tech squad, hubby, when he gets home.
I returned to using the voice recognition program with another project. Like earlier, it continues to be uncooperative. Instead of typing sentences like, I’m going to drive to the store to buy milk. The voice recognition program typed… and runs were minimal. These were not the same sentence. They didn’t even sound the same. I don’t get it.
Maybe the moon is waxing or waning or maybe we are getting sun flares causing my equipment to run amok. I don’t know but I do know if I lived in an imaginary reality like in a comic book, I would find a way to have machines do their master’s bidding. Not the master trying to figure out how to communicate with the machine or the machine doing what it wants when it wants.
I worry sometimes about the level of dependence humans have on machines. Office machinery running amok is one thing, but I see those commercials for cars that park themselves and find myself concerned. I hate technology sometimes. I don’t know if I’m ready for a world more dependent on machines. Then again, machines probably aren’t real thrilled to work for people like me – technologically challenged.
Its 11:11, an hour and ten minutes into my daughter’s five hour spine surgery. I’m sitting with her fiancé, a menagerie of electronic devices to keep me entertained and a fully charged cell phone.
I’m on level 33 in the game Candy Crush and fiancé is on level 65, not that it’s a competition. Steve Harvey is on the television chattering away about Jack Russell Terriers. I have one of those. Chicken-dog we call him due to his un-bounding ability to find the most minuscule piece of chicken bone from the trash. No one in the room seems to notice the television exists. No one cares that I have a chicken-dog at home or why I’m sitting in this artificial environment called a waiting room. I however, cannot say the same about my feelings toward the other people in the room.
I hear snippets of conversations, small windows into the lives of others, small dramas in adult human packages. She did well, you can go back; He had problems and will be in recovery another hour; I’ve been here all night and I got a parking ticket; I’m sorry, we need to talk to you in private. Things didn’t go as expected. This is what I am currently calling my reality.
I’ve heard that word in different contexts lately making me wonder, what is reality?
Outside the hospital walls, people continue to rush around grabbing coffee, the latest news, the morning dead-lock on I-83, pushing their kids onto school buses. In here I sit and wonder why it’s taking me so many attempts to get past level 33 in Candy Crush and what fiancé knows that I don’t. Its easier then thinking that the woman I once spent forty-two hours giving birth to is lying on a table being flayed by a man I’ve met only once.
Okay, maybe flayed is not the most accurate word. No correct that, this is what I feel, so it is the exact word for my current reality. What is reality? How can my reality consist of one way of life and the next day be completely alien from the day before? Are they the same? Is my reality the same as someone in a country where there is no electricity and my daily existence is spent finding food and fresh water?
My first inclination is to say, no, they are not the same reality. How can they be? When I think about the veterans returning home after active duty, I think the same thing. How do they wrap their heads around the life they lived overseas in war zones too returning home to, hey, the neighbor cut the hedge too short? Do something about that.
My second inclination is to say; yes it is the same reality, only different facets. As quantum physics contemplates the ramifications of string theory, (alternate dimensions in time and space) I think I’ll view reality as a large, loosely woven textile. Twisted, strands of cotton into yarn blended together and the fibers criss-crossing, under and over each other. You pull one string and the whole thing wobbles or comes undone.
There is a large family in the hallway outside the trauma intensive care ward. From their faces I can tell they are sitting on the edge of threads coming undone if not completely ripped. I make eye contact with their pleading, empty eyes. I can almost hear the word, why, from their minds. Why did this thread have to snag or be cut? I don’t have an answer.
It’s surreal to see. Daughter’s fiancé and I are walking down the hallway toward the hospital cafeteria. He’s talking about a stock car race and the amount of hours they give him at work. I am flashing back to when I was in the trauma intensive care ward down at Shock Trauma in Baltimore. I can smell the alcohol and hear the doctors and nurses talking as they filleted me open to save my life. I never lost consciousness till the end.
Daughter’s fiancé does not know my reality just sharply changed course on that textile of life. Nor do I think he caught how close we both just walked around another reality sharply snagged and unraveling as we passed that family in the hallway. A chill goes down my own spine. My spine, intact, closed within the confines of my muscles and skin. I flash to my daughter lying there in surgery.
Do you think a doctor ever left a tool or cotton wad in someone, I hear someone say while in the cafeteria line. I’m trying to decide on a nice, healthy fish or a piece of cake. I pick up the cake and another cup of really bad coffee. I know medical issues like these happen more times than we might want to think about. After all, we are only human. All on that same piece of fabric that twists and turns under our feet.
If a surgeon is having a fight with his spouse or had a minor accident on the way to work, do they take that energy into the operating room? Do they get as scatter-brained as I do when things knock me off my routine? If I were surgeon, on days like that, I’d lose my scalpel in someone for sure.
I can’t handle thoughts like that right now. I grab a second piece of cake in case the first piece is not enough comfort food. I notice fiancé has grabbed three times his normal amount of food for lunch. Nerves, I tell myself. Maybe, he is closer to the unraveled part of the textile then I think.
Do any of us really know where in reality we are? I don’t have any answers to this either. This cake is really moist; I wonder if they bake it here?
The nurse tells us my daughter came through surgery well. I sigh in relief. My section of the textile is still raveled and I’m pretty sure the surgeon still has his scalpel. Not a bad day overall.
I’m at the Wal-Mart waiting for prescriptions and decided this would be a great opportunity to pick up father’s day cards. The Wal-Mart in my area has two rows of cards about fifteen feet long devoted to father’s day. The store is not crowded and I have the entire father’s day card ensemble at my viewing pleasure.
Picking out a card for my dad was a breeze. He’s the sentimental type and I easily found a card depicting a little blonde haired girl smiling and laughing with her dad. Ah, I thought, boy does that bring back memories. If it brings a tear to my eye, which it did, I knew it would get him too. I put it in my cart.
Then there is my hubby who can be described in many ways, but sentimental and romantic are not among them. I don’t know if it was genetics, environment or he just likes to hide his softer, mushy sentimental bent, but he is more like Sheldon Cooper (Big Bank Theory) then Romeo (Romeo and Juliet). Sentimental father’s day cards are not an option.
I have a choice. I can get him a card about drinking beer, being lazy, forgetful, being over occupied with cars or sports, being in the bathroom too long, reading in the bathroom, staying in bed with a beer, over-eating or farting. There are eight different cards about father’s farting. Four cards on being in the bathroom. Three cards on offering new and improved reading material for being in the bathroom. This would combine being in the bathroom too long and reading in the bathroom. In case you are keeping track.
There are a couple cards for older kids to give their fathers. Things like, you embarrass me, I’m just as moronic as you, give me money, where are the keys to the car. I have to add that in the pre-school – kindergarten age cards for fathers are; I love you, you play with me, you take care of me, things like this.
My question is, what the hell happened from I love you to Happy Farters Day? Granted, I’m not in the Hallmark store. I’m in Wal-Mart. Does that make a difference? If I was on the east side of town would I find less fart and toilet related father’s day cards and more, thanks for going fishing with me cards, you taught me lots? With the card picture showing two guys in a boat, one younger than the other, all tangled up in a fishing net.
My hubby has said on numerous occasions that men, especially white, middle class men, are one of the only populations of people where it is acceptable to berate, tease and stereotype. He uses American television shows as his evidential media trail to prove his point.
I think about this as I’m standing in the card aisle trying to force some of these cards to change so I can find something suitable. You know, humorous but intelligent and with style. My magic genie is not working. I find another toilet card depicting a gorilla on the toilet reading the newspaper. Really?
I’ve been standing in this aisle for twenty minutes and it’s obvious nothing is going to change. So, I’m going to find a somewhat acceptable, humorous father’s day card, cross out what does not apply and with sharpie in hand, make it fit. I search again for the ultimate card and come up empty handed.
Is it that our stereotyping of fathers is so out-of-hand that no one can remember what their dad is (was) really like? Why stereotype fathers with the attributes of dysfunctionality and think it’s funny? Is this really what our current society feels about fathers or men? Maybe, hubby is right. Maybe this is another evidential trail.
Has the role of father changed that much in main-stream America that we resort to fart and toilet cards to express our hostility? As a social worker, I know that the percentage of fatherless families is staggering. The last statistic I saw was fifteen million children live in a household without a father. (The Washington Post) In Baltimore, where I am from, 38% of children live in fatherless homes. The domino effect is horrendous for children and society. The numbers continue to rise.
Is this the reason I can’t find a decent father’s day card? Will there come a day when we won’t have father’s day? Maybe the people who wish to express honor and appreciation for their fathers are declining. If this is the trend and it continues, there will be no need for a day to celebrate and honor half of the genetic gene pool that brought all of us here.
Maybe it’s the type of humor involved. I accept that. There are too many degrading, hello, I’m a dysfunctional dad and it’s my day, cards verses I’m a great dad, not perfect but I love you and you know it cards. There is no balance, at least not in these aisles.
So what’s with happy farters day? Lack of responsible dads, lack of respect for dads, a disconnect between who dad’s are and how they relate to their families? Or is it something I haven’t thought of?
My hubby does not like sports so that cuts out about an eighth of the selection. He does not drink and that cuts out a fourth. I’ll be damned if I’m going to give him anything that has to do with bodily functioning to celebrate his fatherhood. That cuts out another half. The last percentages are the sentimental and pre-school cards. Where this does led me?
I bought hubby a birthday card. I have a sharpie at home. Maybe, this is a sign I need to go into the greeting card industry. I certainly can’t do any worse then what I’ve seen today.
So if you are a father and you get a father’s day card that does not have drinking, laziness, or jokes about bodily functions, give your family an extra hug. They obviously went the extra mile to find that special card just for you. Happy up and coming father’s day!
It’s drive-in movie time again. Even though nights are still on the cool side, it didn’t stop our local drive-in’s opening weekend from being a near sell-out for Lilo & Stitch and Mission: Impossible.
Like good American nostalgia enthusiasts, we gathered our blankets, hooded sweat shirts, lawn chairs, a bag of McDonald’s food, folding table and a game of Haunted Mansion Life (yes it’s a Disney thing) and headed for the drive-in forty-five minutes away.
It was good to see so many other cars, vans and trucks in attendance. The enticing smell of popcorn, hot dogs and fresh coffee filing the air. Kids of all ages running about, throwing around balls, swinging on swings or playing games with family and friends around their vehicles. Adults sat around playing cards, friends were reunited. We were about an hour from show time. You have to go at least an hour before show time for a good spot and for socializing.
According to the LA Times, at the height of the drive-in theater craze there were over 4,000 drive-in movie screens or about 25% of all movie screens in the country. Today there are only approximately 368 or 1.5%. Drive-in movies are a dying bread in great family entertainment.
Why go to a drive-in when you can attend a modern indoor theater with rocking, cushy chairs and state of the art Dolby surround-sound? Here are my top ten reasons.
10. It’s an American institution that should be preserved.
9. Two movies for the price of one.
8. Before movie social time with family and friends.
7. You can talk all you want during the film and no one cares.
6. Sit in the car, on lawn chairs, laying in a truck or van, in sleeping bags on the ground. Whatever floats your boat.
5. You control the volume of the sound around you.
4. Bring the kids in their pajamas. If they fall asleep, no problem. Wrap them in a blanket. Once you are home, just plop them into bed. (Yes, put them in a car seat on the way home)
3. Bring your own treats but make sure to patronize the concession stand. Most drive-ins depend on this to off-set cost of the business. Our concession stand is like a take-out restaurant.
2. It’s an event, not just a film. Everyone gets excited when you tell them it’s drive-in movie night!
1. You get to watch the dancing concession stand food advertisement at intermission. “4 minutes till show time, just enough time to get a fresh bag of popcorn and a refreshing soda.. 3 minutes till show time…” As the dancing hot dogs in buns jig with a couple bags of popcorn to hooky carnival music.
Want to know if there is a drive-in near you? Go to DriveinMovie.com. They have them listed state by state. See you at the drive-in!
Oh yes, Lilo & Stitch and Mission: Impossible were great films. I recommend those too.
As many of you know I have an internet business doing something called e-therapy. It uses an e-mail system for people who either do not want to make traditional weekly appointments in an office or are not able to. The key point of this is – e-mail is important to me. Very important.
So, imagine my surprise to find some people are ending up in my Spam folder. It’s a crazy system. The web site has an e-mail address and they forward the mail from this to my e-mail account which has a different e-mail address. They are, what do you call it, in sync. Only, after having this system in place for several months I find all kind of important information I have not gotten because SPAM ate it.
This makes me a bit upset, peeved, ticked, pissed, you name it. No one warned me about SPAM. I grew up with SPAM. SPAM in a can. I have no idea what SPAM in a can really is. They tell me its ham but I like ham and well then there is SPAM. There was also a bit done by Monty Python called Spam-a-lot. I only remember some pieces to this and I don’t think they were talking about SPAM in a can, but I know they were not talking about SPAM in my e-mail system.
My mother never served me SPAM in a can and I had to learn about it the hard way, as a poor student in college. That’s not a good way to learn about SPAM in a can but I’m sure there are worse. She also never warned me about SPAM in my e-mail system. Yes, I know there was no internet or e-mail back when I was growing up but I really don’t see this as a good excuse for mom not introducing and warning me about SPAM.
Warnings, like, “Dear, when you get older, there will be this thing called the internet. People will send you things you normally get in the mailbox. You really need to be careful, especially if you open an internet based business, that you check this little hidden device called SPAM. No, not the stuff we see in the grocery store in a can. Now be a good girl and eat your ham.”
Okay, maybe it’s not a good idea to blame my mother for my short-comings in regards to SPAM. Perhaps I should look at the inner recesses of my own sub-conscious. Could it possibly be I’m so confused about SPAM in a can, it’s not ham but it is, I like ham but not SPAM that I don’t think about my SPAM folder?
Maybe I was traumatized as a young adult, sitting in my dorm trying to open SPAM in a can with my geometry compass tip (I didn’t have a can opener), and accidently swallowing it with SPAM that I fear flashbacks? Maybe, I should have really thought harder about opening a business where SPAM was going to be involved on any level! Sh-t!
It’s too late now. I’m almost finished my office so I can start seeing people face to face again. Still, I really wanted this e-mail system to take off… Damn…Damn you to hell you dirty, stinking SPAM! (That’s a spoof of Charlton Heston’s line in the film Planet of the Apes)
I’ve been asked if there are any axioms I use to ground me when life tries to blow me away. Yes, there are. I use the below axioms all the time when life is sunny. When life gets blustery, I sometimes have to remind myself that they exist. If I remember and fall back on these axioms, things always turn out for the best. It might not be the best I would have wanted, but I find myself relatively unscathed or able to bounce back quickly. Kind of like the wizard in the Oz, The Great and Powerful or another well known film, The Wizard of Oz.
Restlesswanderer61’s axioms for surviving and thriving:
1. The only person I can change is me.
2. No matter what life hands me, ultimately I choose how it effects me long term.
3. Everyone has the same basic needs, only in different degrees. Love people including myself, even the ones hardest to love.
4. Everyone’s behavior is purposeful. They are the best choices I use or have used (whether healthy or regrettable, knowingly or subconsciously) to find balance. Don’t judge others or myself.
5. I am energy at my deepest level and a spiritual being that can connect with anyone and is only limited to the constraints I place around me. Even if I doubt or don’t believe, I can’t be disconnected from the creator or all of creation. It is no more possible then living without taking in oxygen.
6. My brain is a creative and amazing devise. I will strive to develop what is not and prevent my thoughts from running amok.
7. People have the most amazing resilience and overcome the incredible horrors. So do I.
8. I am not perfect and never will be. There is no such thing as perfect.
9. The answers to my problems will ultimately come from me even if I can’t see them currently.
10. I have an amazing talent and gift, even when I don’t think so. Everyone has a talent or gift to be tapped to fulfill themselves and the world around them. Let others shine, take the back seat and clap thunderously at other’s accomplishments no matter how big or small whether I know them or not.
11. Never lose my childlike wonder, imagination and desire for play.
12. Resistance to issues is futile. Deal with it, don’t repress or pretend it does not exist.
13. It’s okay to reach beyond my comfort zone. In fact, I will grow from doing so.
14. Strike a balance between being self-absorbed and other-focused.
15. There is usually no such thing as the no win scenario. It’s only how to win and what “to win” really means.
16. I don’t have to be correct all the time. Pick my disagreements for when it really matters and let the rest go.
17. Everyone has baggage and crap. Mine is no better or worse than someone else’s, only different. Accept it.
18. Treat others the way I want them to treat me, even if they don’t.
19. Unless I have no food, shelter or loved ones, I have nothing to seriously complain about. My life is fine, no matter what is happening. Be grateful for every person, everything I have and everything that happens to me.
20. Be amazed by little things, joyful, laugh often and hard.
21. I can make a difference in everyone’s life I meet. Even if it is a small one.
22. Have patience. There is a reason things or people are as they are. Watch it unfold and learn.
23. Dream big, make goals, explore, learn and strive to make those dreams a reality.
24. Be proactive not reactive. This is my life, the only one I have, don’t get to the end and have regrets. Make each moment count.
Do you have a list of axioms you follow? If you don’t or are not sure, it might be something to think about. If you have a code you follow that is true, there is no telling the wonderful places it will take you. You are your best and worst enemy. Find balance and find peace not only in times of sun but when the tornado’s in life blows your balloon off course.
Go ahead and shake your head but to create is to live. It does not matter if its writing, sculpting, painting, dancing, music, drafting, engineering or finding a new way to make pot roast. We all create. Yes, even those of you saying, I don’t have any talent or a creative bone in my body. Yes, you do. It’s in your code, your DNA.
Think of what the world would be like if there was no such thing as being creative. You can’t because the world as we know it would not exist. Animals create, plants do and what’s that word… procreate.
Okay, that’s a stretch. The point is, we all do this, need this and yet so many people are under the impression that “to create” is a frivolousness activity outside productive society. They are wrong. It is the very fabric of society.
According to many studies, children who are encouraged to use their imagination, who are involved, exposed to creative endeavors score higher on tests in school and do better at seeing options in life others miss.
Creative thinking utilizes imagination, exploration of options, reflection and critical thinking skills. In an article, Art in Schools Inspires Tomorrow’s Creative Thinkers, Without the arts, education’s grade is Incomplete,by Jeffrey Schnapp, he discusses how creativity and the arts are essential to reading, writing and arithmetic. They are all interconnected like the spider’s web, the fabric of life.
Creative people ask the hard questions such as, how can I get ideas, information and communication from one person to another. What would happen if I stepped aside from the familiar and public confirmatory? What new thing or idea could I imagine and create?
Without this, there would be no internet, computers, cell phones, televisions, radios, cars, refrigerators to name thousands of others. Not to mention all the entertainment we use daily from music, television, books and games (like Candy Crush, which I am currently addicted). And don’t forget the photographs, paintings, textiles, clothing, furniture and house styles we use.
So, tell me, where don’t we use creativity, our talents and the arts? Isn’t it odd that when you look at creativity this way, how silly it seemly to take money away from the creative endeavors in schools and choosing to put kids in competitive venues and watching test scores instead. Wouldn’t it be more beneficial to the individual and society to have balance between the three?
According to Schnapp, Nazi Germany and the Taliban both tried going the route of eliminating creative thinking and art. I think we know the rest of their stories.
My writing coach, fiction, song writer and poet, Melissa Green, runs a non-profit organization in Lancaster, Pennsylvania called, Write from the Heart. Her goal is to inspire the creative spirit and to support those who have encountered resistance or fear when trying to express their creativity through writing. As I meet other writers under her wing, I am often amazed at hearing the insidious ways many were drilled from childhood that being creative was wrong. Being artistic was not appropriate. I, thank goodness, came from a very creative, artistically supportive environment. I can’t imagine growing up in that kind of environment.
Last evening, Melissa presented a short quote from Hugh Prather’s, I Touch the Earth, The Earth Touches Me. It is: “There were seventy five people in the lobby and only a seven year old girl was finding out what it felt like to sit on a marble floor.” At first this seems absurd. But think about this. What if everyone took the time to explore and contemplate the merits of sitting on a marble floor? What if Orville and Wilbur Wright hadn’t explored the merits of travel by air?
Today, be extra creative! Even if it means putting an extra potato in your pot roast.
I went to the Goodwill store looking for a lamp to re-purpose. I really enjoy combing through flea-markets and second-hand shops to find elements of objects discarded to make something new. Something I create to be meaningful or purposeful to me.
I found a lamp, bought it. That afternoon I water colored the shade in hues of green. I realized, this object transformation was symbolic of my life and what I help others do – Re-purpose their lives. Life will always give reasons to step back and ask questions like: What the hell just happened? Why did this happen to me? What am I going to do now? Who am I as a result of this? Re-purposing helps bring answers to those questions.
My journey with Post Traumatic Stress (PTSD) catapulted me into demanding answers to those questions. I didn’t think I could function without them. Luckily, a person does not have to endure severe traumas demanding immediate attention. Anyone can have a desire, a spark to find their authentic self and live a fuller, happier, more balanced life.
People change slowly over time being enhanced or torn down by life’s challenges. Most appear to view this change as outside themselves. They don’t care or they fear looking inward and asking the hard questions. Finding the answers and stepping out into the great unknown. They accept life as it is. The result is often bitterness, anger and depression. This does not have to be. Life happens, yes, but what you do with it makes all the difference in the world – your world.
Re-purposing takes time and usually happens in stages. As a person learns more about them self and the universe around them, there is an aha moment. My experience is that this is followed by a stewing process. The mind soaks in the information and applies it to everything it knows. The person acts on their new awareness and then it hits.
New questions arise! Well, if that’s true, then what about this situation? Why did I act that way when I could have done this? What else have I believed about life that suddenly is not true? What is truth? The questions become less about the person and more about the world, the universe and the spiritual.
It might be helpful to look at the journey in terms of cooking or food. At first, it probably seems similar to peeling off layers of an onion. I picked onion because pealing an onion can bring tears and at times not very pleasant. Thoughts and memories, who we have become over time has built around our core like the layers surrounding the core of the onion. The larger the onion, the more changes, adaptations or layers a person has developed.
There should come a time when a person can see beyond the onion metaphor and see layers as welcome opportunities for re-purposing, bringing enrichment to their lives. Life’s journey now becomes more like layers of string cheese, baklava, lasagna, or some other pleasant concoction you can think of. Not as threatening or uncomfortable if done in moderation. It is good to note, that even with pleasant or desired elements of change, too much too soon can cause distress. I really would not recommend sitting down and eating en entire family size lasagna! All things should be done in moderation, which includes re-purposing.
After a while, the person may no longer find total enrichment and the questions asked of the self changes again. Using the cooking metaphor, questions might revolve around the concern, how can I improve on this recipe? The types of questions are as vast as the grains of rice in a box of Minute Rice.
Re-purposing time varies from person to person. Some only strive for feeling slightly better, like putting on a band-aid and waiting. Others, like me, spend a lifetime joyfully exploring, learning and becoming. At this point in my journey, the questions are no longer the ones stated above. Some of my current questions are: Where do I go from here? What does this say about me? How can I turn this into something good for myself and others?
My lamp is now painted, trimmed and assembled. Another human-made element re-purposed for a new beginning, a new life. Aren’t all our experiences in some way, human-made? It’s up to us to do the re-purposing to make our lives the best they can be.
I offer a challenge to you. Start re-purposing your life. The results are worth the journey. Below I offer some first steps to get you started. If you would like some help, you can check out my e-mail counseling/coaching services. If you are in the area, make an appointment or attend a class. Have a great journey!
First Steps to Start Re-purposing Your Life:
1. Get a notebook or journal.
2. List as many qualities about yourself as you can think of. Ask others for their impute. What do you think/feel about your list?
3. List things, people or events where you feel/felt: 1) happy: 2) accomplished: 3) loved: 4) experienced freedom: 5) had fun. Are there any areas where you had a hard time listing things? Some needs that you are falling short in having fulfilled?
4. What movies, characters, TV shows, music, artists, books do you relate to? Why?
5. Make a timeline of your life – the goods, bads, neutrals, accomplishments, regrets. Why did you label these in the categories you placed them? Example: Why is difficulty in 3rd grade math a good thing?
6. Answer the statement: If I had a magic wand, my life would look like… (be specific). Why would you want the elements you picked?
7. List and evaluate areas of your life where you feel out of balance or unhappy. Why do feel this way about this area? (Try to be inward focused and not “because he made me…”)
8. Ask yourself, what role do you play in number 7? We always play a role, even if it is not doing anything.
9. Continue to ask yourself, what do I really want? (see my blog, Life’s Little Instruction Manual, Healthy Relationships Part 4)
10. Review everything you have written. See if you are starting to understand who you really are, how you got here, the role you play, and where your life is unbalanced. You can’t formulate any goals on making improvements without this base-level structure.
Congratulations on taking the first steps in re-purposing your life. Job well done! Drop me a comment and let me know how it’s going!
Deborah Sickle Hill 