I Get By With a Lotta Help …

Have you ever felt like you were born under a malevolent star? That’s how my life has felt lately. Between health crises, worries and concerns, it has been a year to remember and not in a good way. To frost the devil’s cake, I fell about a week ago and bashed my already arthritic knee, fractured a rib, and attempted to open a door with my cheekbone resulting in a black eye. I am not relating this to elicit sympathy—rather to make a point.

So, here I am, laid up and in serious pain, unable to do much. My husband is recovering from surgery. And there’s just the two of us—and the dog, who also needs attention and to be walked.

All of this reminds me of how lucky we are to have friends and family who care about us. People have brought us delicious dinners, and offered to do whatever we need. One couple, long term friends, drove and hour and a half to visit and took my hubby out for pizza (I hurt too much to go).

Another friend sat with my hubby while I went to the hospital to get checked out, and made him dinner. Then she drove to the hospital in the middle of the night to pick me up from the ER.

And our families have been a tremendous support—my sister-in law- Connie, is here for a couple of weeks to help out. (That is me singing the Hallelujah chorus you hear!) Our daughter was able to get away from work at a crucial time and was here to help out. And my hubby’s brother will arrive the day Connie leaves.

So even though this has been a terrible, trying time—we have much to be grateful for— one another, our daughter, our families and our friends. It’s hard enough to face the sometimes bumpy road ahead—but thank God, we don’t travel this journey alone.

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Water, Water Everywhere


In our modern world, living in an industrialized country, we have water at our fingertips. It flows freely into our bathtubs, from our showerheads, through our garden hoses, spouts out of sprinklers, and fills our kitchen sinks…until it doesn’t.

The faucet on our kitchen sink broke recently. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I called a handyman neighbor who very nicely came over and diagnosed the problem. He then told me that the manufacturer of the faucet would replace the broken part free of charge. So I called the faucet company and sure enough, they agreed to send a replacement part  as soon as possible—promising that it would arrive in a few days.

Meanwhile, my daughter (who was visiting us)  jerry-rigged the faucet with  pliers. It worked for a few days—we were able to turn the water on and off with little effort. Then a little piece broke off the metal thing-a -ma-bob that we attached the pliers to. And now I had a kitchen faucet that was no longer functional–and my daughter had gone home. Not a big problem—right?

Except it was—every time I went to rinse my hands while cooking, rinse glop off a plate, wash coffee down the sink, or wash a pot, I had no water. I lugged water from the near-by bathroom—and as, you know, water is heavy. So then I started to use paper towels to wipe off plates and a wet towel to wipe my hands. While this may not seem like a big deal, as the days passed, it became more and more inconvenient. I began to think about the pioneers and how hard it must have been to lug water in buckets from a stream. I thought about people who camp, and choose to do dishes this inconvenient way. Mostly, I longed for the day my faucet would again be functional.

The necessary piece came in the mail as promised. I called the handyman and he was able to come and fix the faucet—it took about 15 minutes.

So, now I joyfully turn my newly functional faucet on, reveling in the freely flowing water. And feel very grateful that I live in this century not earlier times when a kitchen faucet was unheard of and water was lugged by the bucket.

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Publishing a Novel

 

When I first decided to publish my novel, Looking for Love, I was under the erroneous impression that writing it was the most difficult part. Now I know better—writing is the easy part. What follows the completion of the novel is the hard stuff.

First, I took every chapter to my writing group for critiquing. Then I had the novel read by several critical readers—meaning people who would be honest about the story, the believability of the characters and the quality of my writing. Next, I had the novel edited by a retired copy editor to make sure my grammar usage was acceptable.

Then, I actively searched for an agent: a search that included paying for 10 minute interviews at conferences that cost me $4 a minute. After several nerve –wracking interviews and the inevitable “Sorry, we can’t use your work right now letters,” I found a publisher.

“Hooray,” I said. “This completed work will be published in no time at all.”

That was seven months ago. Since then, I have rewritten a significant portion of the novel to change the voice from passive to active, had the novel re-edited and made all of those corrections and re-read the novel twice ( all 69,00 words) to make sure there was no left over typos from the editing process. One of the re-reads was aloud, so I could catch any mistakes I had missed.  I also had a formal portrait taken (at my own expense). In addition to that, I have started a publicity campaign which included distributing flyers I had printed (at my own expense) announcing the imminent publication for my first novel.

In addition, I have some control over the design of the cover—so I have conducted at least 5 (maybe more) searches for the right picture to depict the main character, Christy Doyle. So far, the cover designer and I have yet to find the picture—so I will be looking again…

And now, I have the really hard work to complete: writing the synopsis. You may be thinking—how could that be hard? After all, you wrote the book. Right—and I used almost 70,000 words to do it. Now I have to condense that story into about 100 words—not an easy task for someone who likes to go on and on and on.

As I get closer to an actual firm publications date, I feel both excited and apprehensive. What if this novel I’ve invested so much of my time and my energy into is—well, a dud? What if it gets bad reviews on Amazon? What if I only sell twenty copies—and just to my friends and family? What if…well, you get the idea.

But, even with all of those what-ifs, I am excited about my novel, Looking for Love. And I hope that when it is finally available, you will be excited along with me.

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Sneak Peek at Looking for Love

Christy gasped for breath as if water silled into her mouth and lungs. Flailing against the monster that entrapped her,she  pushed its tentacles away. Kicking and screaming, she finally came to the surface, and breaking the thin membrane of water, she broke free. Air filled her lungs, sharp and painful, and she breathed gratefully and greedily.

Shaking, the young woman stumbled from her bed and fell into a nearby chair.  Her hair was soaked with sweat and her pajamas were twisted around her thin frame. Hugging herself to stop from shivering, she tried to get her bearings. It was almost dawn; the early pink grey of the sun rise was beginning to break. That dream—the one where she was drowning—plagued her nights since the day her mom died.

That day was etched in Christy’s memory. She could remember everything: how cool the temperature was, how the sun shone, and that dandelions were poking through the cracks in the sidewalk. When she kissed her mother goodbye that morning, she thought that Eileen looked like a tiny waif engulfed by her snowy pillow.

When Christy arrived at her job at South Buffalo Animal Hospital that morning, it was crowded with the usual menagerie of dogs and cats. She donned the uniform, a purple smock, and hurried into the examination room. The distraction of helping Dr. Drew as he treated animals brought Christy a few moments of peace. At mid morning, even though there was a strict policy against receiving personal calls in the office, the office receptionist waved Christy over and urgently handed her the phone. Christy gingerly took the phone with a sinking feeling in her gut.

I hope you enjoyed reading this

 selection from my novel!

       Kathy
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Rudeness

         I am bothered by rudeness: when people talk through movies, shout over a live performance, push others out of the way, and are oblivious to anyone but themselves. I wish I could confront rude people and point out how their behavior upsets others. Needless to say, I know how futile that would be. I am sure that they would only be ruder still, and maybe become verbally abusive. I would find myself in a far worse situation than before. So, like so many other people who abhor rudeness, I grit my teeth and try to ignore it.

How do rude people get that way? Are they the products of the shovers and shouters we all encounter in our daily lives? Are they born that way? Do they think the world owes them something—and claim it—even though it takes being inconsiderate?

Do rude people ever feel a pang of regret or remorse for treating others so badly?  Or do they take pleasure in barging their way through life?

In my life experience, I’ve found that you get further by treating others with respect. And I think that’s what separates rude people from the rest of us. They have little respect for others—they think their needs must be catered to, no matter what the cost to others. A popular word to describe such behavior is narcissism—excessive self love. And maybe that is the ultimate motivation for rude people, a sense of entitlement that springs from seeing yourself as the center of the universe.

Meanwhile, the rest of us have to put up with their behavior: texting during movies, loud talking at concerts, pushing to get ahead, throwing the “finger” at others, and inappropriate comments, to name a few.

It’s tempting to fight rudeness with rudeness, cruelty with cruelty, meanness with meanness. But personally, I would not want to live in a world like that. And I am grateful that so many  people choose to be kind, polite and considerate. It makes encounters with rude people easier to take, and easier to forget.

 

 

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Downsizing

When I retired, I was afraid of being bored. After all, I worked a full-time job for over 30 years, served on committees, raised a daughter and had a full social life and family life.

 So, I filled my  retirement with interesting activities. I assumed the presidency of the Book Circle, (a club with almost 200 members) which is an umbrella organization for about 20 individual book clubs. I continued to serve as the Program Chairperson for the Travel Club which means that I am responsible for programs every month for a club that has a huge (about 700 people) membership. In addition, I accepted the responsibility of being secretary for two other clubs. I write two newsletters, numerous newsletter articles, attend board meetings and go to events these clubs sponsor. I also plan at least three events a year—some of which are open to the entire Solivita community, which numbers about 3000 people.

I escorted two cruises— and I have a third one coming up, which has almost 100 people on it.

Oh yeah, I am in a writing group which meets frequently. I wrote a novel which is about to be published. And as you already know, I write a blog.

I helped my husband through his cancer battle and had a serious emergency operation myself two years ago.

And, yes, I travel a little.

Okay, so what’s the point of all this?

It’s true confession time—I am over-extended. I finally have come to my senses and realized that I am trying to do too much.

What was my epiphany, you ask? I think it was realizing that my hobbies had become a job. I constantly have phone calls to make, emails to answer and send, meetings to go to…just like a job.

Except when you have a job, you get a paycheck. Needless to say, like all other volunteers, I do this with no paycheck—in other words, I work for free.

I am trying to downsize. I am actively looking for my replacement for several of my “jobs.” Lucky for me, one club has a very competent president–elect, I have an eager co-chair for another job. Now I am evaluating what I will continue to do in the future.

The one sacred thing is writing—my writing group, my novels, stories and blog posts are the activities I cherish.

I am seriously considering being a “lady who lunches,” working on my tan, and (finally) catching up on my reading—at least for a year.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll love it. And if I don’t?  

Well, clubs are always looking for volunteers.

 

 

 

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Holidays

 

We celebrated a wonderful Christmas with our daughter and her partner in California. Both families were invited to come and enjoy everything Christmas implies: family time, beautiful decorations, gift giving, fabulous food and togetherness. We baked and decorated Christmas cookies and strung popcorn and cranberries to festoon the tree. We drove around to see the  decorations that graced so many of the homes in Riverside, California. We walked through the venerable Mission Inn Hotel which has an amazing light display. And even though we went away for a good part of the Christmas season, we decorated our home in Florioda with a lovely tree and other bits and pieces.

It was a Christmas to remember.

 Then came New Year’s which we welcomed with good friends at a party here in Solivita. We drank champagne and enjoyed music and a ball drop.

So, our holidays were suitably festive.

Some people as they get older stop going for all the falderal associated with holidays. It is tempting to do that. Decorating a tree and dusting off all the little angels, Santas and so on that I love seeing at Christmas takes time.  You have to drag the boxes out of the garage and unwrap it all. Then a month later, you have to put it all back again.

I am happy that we went to that trouble.  I take great pleasure in seeing my little tree and enjoy the Santas and other decorations I place around the house. To me, it wouldn’t be Christmas without those trappings.

I think that if we stopped celebrating holidays, our lives would be diminished. What would we look forward to, if we didn’t see the holidays as a special time? Just another day—another Sunday or Monday or whatever? Holidays give us a reason to stop and savor life. For many of us, it is a time to think about those we love, to spend time with them, even to tell them that we love them. For many, it is a time to observe certain comforting rituals: baking cookies, going to church, giving gifts, enjoying a feast with family and friends.

No matter what holiday you celebrated, I hope yours was a happy as mine. And I hope that the holidays have given you the energy and strength to face the coming year with joy.

 

 

 

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The Last Noel

                      In the waning afternoon sun on a Christmas Eve many years ago, my daughter, husband and I anticipated a snowy drive to Buffalo from Angola, where we lived with my husband’s father. As the gloomy afternoon wore on, snow began to fall. Not the fairy tale, picturesque snow of maudlin Christmas movies, but big fat, serious snowflakes that rapidly coated the road in front of our house, and weighted down the tall spires of evergreens lining the road that led to the Lakeshore Road, a tricky drive even in good weather.

           The phone rang shrilly, disturbing my anxious thoughts as I watched out the mullioned windows at the snow piling up in marshmallow mounds in our yard. My sister’s voice crackled through the phone wire.

“Are you going to try to make it?” Susan asked.

“How much snow do you have there?” I asked anxiously.

“It’s starting to pile up, but the radio said that the south towns were getting a blast of lake effect snow. You know, we want you to come, but…” her voice trailed off.

We’d never missed a Christmas Eve at the Joyces’. It was part party, part dance, part feast, and just plain fun. Everything and anything happened at our Christmas eves-    square dancing in the front hall as my sister played the piano, singing Christmas carols, a frenzy of gifts, hugging, crying, saying ‘I love you”, and of course feasting on great food. We topped the evening off by trudging through the snow to St. John’s church on Seneca street to Midnight Mass. Sisters and brothers traveled from miles to gather in our parent’s home- even keeping this tradition long after both of our parents had died, and I wanted this Christmas Eve to be no different.

I muttered a little prayer under my breath as I went outside to assess the situation. It soon became clear that we were staying put that evening. I looked up into the nighttime sky, a swirl of snow, as hot tears of disappointment stung my eyes. I couldn’t even see across the two-lane road. A phone call from Dan’s brother, a NY State Trooper, confirmed the diagnosis. He warned us to stay home; they were pulling the state troopers off the roads for a while until things improved- probably sometime after midnight.

So here, we were, stuck in Angola, for what should have been the most festive night of the holiday season. Worse yet, I really needed a break from taking care of my father- in -law, whose brain was ravaged by Alzheimer’s disease, changing one of the most creative, vital people I have ever know into a child in a man’s body.

To make matters worse, when I went to the pantry to try to invent a make- shift meal, all we had, other than the holiday turkey, was some frozen pizzas.

I put together a hurry -up meal of frozen pizza, salad, and our Christmas cookies.

           We all sat down to dinner, surrounded by the soft glow of our charming Christmas tree, and munched on the pizza and salad. We then topped it off with the festive cookies Brenda, our daughter, and I had decorated so lovingly.

The snow continued to fall, blanketing the house with silent winter coziness. We put holiday music on the record player, and exchanged gifts.

Grandpa Joe, as we called my father-in-law, delighted in the winter hat and gloves we gave him, putting them on and insisting on wearing them all evening. He took great pleasure in sharing his box of Danish cookies with Shadow, his ancient black Labrador.

We found ourselves laughing and exchanging funny stories. Could it be? Was Joe a little more aware that evening? I’m not sure, but I do know this, that that snow storm that night was part of God’s great plan for my family and me.

Fast-forward another year. A different Christmas Eve, crisp and clear; with roads that were easily traveled over as we hurried into Buffalo to my sister’s home. This would be the first Christmas that my father –in- law was no longer with us. The impromptu Christmas Eve from the year before was his last on earth, it was indeed, Joe Glascott’s last   Noel.

 

          

 

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Glasses

When I was forty I finally gave in to the fact that I needed glasses all the time. Up until that point, I wore them only for reading.  I had glasses from the time I was thirteen, but like most teenage girls, I resisted them. I thought I looked better without them, a notion that was reinforced by my friends.

Well, time marched on and my sight got worse and worse. I found glasses perched on the end of my nose more and more often. I wore them all day and only removed them for social occasions. I guess I didn’t mind everything being fuzzy at parties!

 Then the inevitable happened, I found that I no longer could get away without corrective lenses. I tried contact lenses, but they were impossible to put on because I can’t stand anything in my eyes. My vision changed, and finally, even though I was young for bifocals, they were my fate.

I became a glasses wearer. Finding just the right pair of glasses was a quest every time my prescription changed. I wore every type of frame from metal toned to a pretty pair with shades of lavender that worked well with my hazel eyes.

I reached the next plateau recently—I developed cataracts. I realized something was drastically wrong on one of our trips to see our daughter in California. We landed at night and rented a car. To my horror, I realized that I couldn’t see very clearly when I pulled onto the maniacal traffic on the freeway. (Freeways, for the uninitiated, are the highways everyone uses in California. The slow traffic travels at about sixty miles an hour.)

At first I thought that I was going blind. It was terrifying! I drove without my glasses because it seemed that I could see better without them. Needless to say, I went to my eye doctor immediately when we returned home. I needed cataract surgery. I was pretty excited thinking that at last, I could do without my glasses—I would have young eyes again.

But a funny thing happened. The surgery was a great success—except for one thing. I didn’t realize that I should get a near vision lens and a distance vision lens. Instead, I got two distance lenses. Which is great if you want to see well enough to drive but a pain in the neck if you want to read or even see the food on your plate clearly. It was annoying to have everything near me  look fuzzy.

So I bought several pairs of over the counter glasses which I left in strategic places. Instead of one pair of glasses, I have many pairs of glasses all over the house.

Sometimes, I long for the good old days when one pair of glasses was placed firmly on my face, and I could see everything easily.

Here’s looking at you!

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Babies R Us

We just returned from a rather rushed long weekend to Buffalo. We were anxious to see my husband’s uncle who is very ill and is in his late 80’s. We were warned that it might be now or never.

It was a great opportunity not only to see Uncle Tom, but also to meet my sister’s granddaughter (and my grand niece) for the first time.  Pictures of the baby have been posted and emailed, and I read updates on Face Book extolling her extreme adorableness. Needless to say, all of the stories are true. She is beautiful, sweet, cute, and smart. Adalyn is a delightful baby girl who may be the most loved child in the universe.

We gathered at my sister’s home on Sunday afternoon for a wonderful family dinner. The dinner is a weekly event, and the door is open to anyone who is available. It was a great opportunity to see two of my brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces, nephews, their significant others, a cousin and of course, the baby.

We enjoyed a delicious dinner and visited. But the highlight was holding the baby. Actually, not just holding her. There is a whole other component.  Everyone admires her great beauty, and comments on how much she has learned, and how smart she is. Everyone talks to the baby, telling her how wonderful she is, how much she is loved and how special she is. Adalyn seemed quite content with all the attention she received.

While I was there, the men in the family were the primary caretakers, including my brother –in –law  ( her grandfather) who fed Adalyn, my brothers ( her uncles) who held her and cooed at her and finally, her father ( my nephew) who changed her diaper and took care of her.

It occurred to me at some point how wonderful this whole scene was—and how happy I am for the men in my family to be so comfortable nurturing Adalyn. They reminded me of my father who was a nurturer, too.

What a blessing it is for the men—and for Adalyn and the whole family—to be empowered to take care of and enjoy a baby so freely!

I couldn’t help thinking that a child who is showered with love by everyone around her has a great start on life. And how fortunate we all are to be surrounded by men who are comfortable in the role of nurturer.

 

 

 

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