Writing Reality

Maybe I just don't get it... "...My father sits at night with no lights on..."---Carly Simon  In my male-dominant mind. Dr. Suess-ish sing-songy "...go go go go on an adventure..." (George Santos' escapades gave me permission to use "ish".) I'd been accused of not being detailed enough in my writing. as my writer friend, Caytha put it to me now near twenty years ago. I knew she was correct. It's gotten a lot better, a whole bunch better. But the writing of sex scenes... Well... I'll need Caytha for that.  "...his cigarette glows in the dark..."---Carly Simon  Even my husband Norman could have written the simple sex scenes better than I, that I currently need in my script. And he was not a writer, but a math oriented thinker. Ala carte he was a nurturing romantic. And a sort of romantic Humphrey Bogart to his Ingrid. Otherwise, I won't go into details there. I'll let the mature audiences use their imagination. I am so

Why we send Holiday Cards, many with Letters. By the way, Happy Festivus! Its for the rest of us...in this cruel, chaotic messed up, hateful world... Well thats why.  Comedy is quite often my ticket away from pain. The rest of my writing stems from the vigilante within me. And the truths I've personally experienced, the dystopian world many have unseen, because it's too harsh to admit it to oneself. Yes, I'm writing somewhat dark. I write dark, with humor twisted into the cracks to shed a glimmer ... a very small glimmer of hope into the unseen world. Follow me... I'm airing out my grievances. I'm late on getting my Festivus Pole up. But it'll arrive in time. I'm sure of it. I used to tell people before I turned age thirty, that I sent Holiday cards out so they could be happily surprised that it wasn't another bill. I don't know how they took that. But it was meant as a humorous anecdote in my own quirky sort of way. In return, they grieved that I mi

Well, I didn't think I'd be doing a Holiday Letter this year, but here goes... The Spirit of Norm is in the air. As the wind whips with minus a true snowstorm.  In hopes the Farmers Almanac was correct, I pray to the snow gods. Rain ensued the month of December thus far. We have nearly tripled the amount of rainfall usual for December in New Jersey. And I've witnessed its treachery. Storms such as these hit us hardest in July. Then remained fairly intense through til about early October.  Our daughters are doing well, Thank God.  Their Dad would be proud of them. Our oldest Sarah, now a Junior at UCLA pursuing her degree in Chemical Engineering. She's digging the whole California scene. Which I thought it was for her. She's had some good traveling on her off times from school. For her March 2023 week off, she drove her and a few friends out to Lake Tahoe and went downhill skiing for a first in nearly 5 years. She had to rent the ski equipment.  Funny enough when

What have I surmised? Since I can remember. Oh decades of memories. I remind myself of words read and those written. Things heard and things witnessed. I still ask, "How do I cure the world?" Cure the world? Well, is the cure of hatred? Is it a cure of territorial wants or needs? What is the answer I'm looking for to cure the world of? I ponder thoughts from different religious ideologies I've read or heard from acquaintances, passersby when I've asked them to tell me of their sometimes foreign to me experiences and understandings. Throughout most religious books I've read, there is seemingly always some murderous conflict among us humans. Where does it come from? I ask. When does it stop? If ever. How does it stop? Or is all that murderous discontent supposed to just halt or continue on? Who stops it? Whose is it anyway? Yes, my life does wander through all this thought in my everyday life. Now it has weighed heavy. It hangs on my mind, soul, wears my body

“…She sits alone waiting for suggestions. He’s so nervous avoiding all the questions…” A Rod Stewart song somehow ended up playing on my car radio. It was as I accidently hit the radio button on my steering wheel as I made a U-turn into a parking lot. The rock song “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy” popped on. I listened to it, as I found a temporary space to park and called my youngest a block from her dorm. It was the holiday time as I’d just driven for three hours to her college. For me to listen to such music was a rare thing. I’m a little bit of a prude. As I’m more of a Verde, Chopin, Vivaldi, Mozart kind of person. Perhaps an interesting science or cultural podcast I’d listen to. Otherwise, its complete silence in the car when I drive alone.   I’ve been known to stray and pop in an old CD of 1960’s to 1970’s pop music, but not often. I’d just hung up after a brief conversation with my daughter as the song remained playing. Afterwards, I pulled out of the parking area to find a better sp

Just when your kids think you can't fix something like the dryer hose. You prove them wrong. Today was the day. I hadn't been able to do my flexed arm hang, push-ups,  upper body weights, for 6 months. Today I did light weight routines after a short slow morning run feeling lousy at best. I wanted to get a load of wash started while I finished up a final day of raking leaves for the season. As I went to turn my dryer on, which was accidentally left unplugged by my plumber, I had in on Monday. I think I distracted the poor guy with a talk on wheat grass... Follow me. So today, I wondered what the rattle of the dryer was all about. In order to check it I had to move the dryer gently as to not disengage another line (gas) from the dryer. After I moved the dryer inching it slighty, because of the tight space (thank God I'm a lean 102 pounds.) I squeezed between the washer and dryer and figured out what the rattle was. The dryer vent hose which I thought was attached after I&#

After today's chores and four hours of writing and editing earlier this morning I got out to run 8 miles. The wind was whipping this morning on my run. I was just 1.5 miles from home. I saw a wire from a telephone hanging. I went to lean my head and upper body to avoid its loopy swing. Yet since there are times when only I could be thrown into a "Bizarro World"... It happened in a millisecond. A gust of wind carried the loopy wire into the air and into my running path as I ran against traffic going eastbound on Wyckoff Ave, in Waldwick. And pray tell it lassoed around my neck grabbing and choking me yanking me back towards the pole it hung from. I quickly twisted myself out of the choke as it ripped off the winter hat I wore on my head.  Now when crazy stuff like that happens.  I wonder to myself eventually what was the last thing on my mind just before that occurred? I thought for a second as I watched for traffic and retrieved my winter hat in the roadway. It came to me

As I cleaned my home today, I'd realized there were a couple areas that hadn't been dusted or reckoned with since the passing of my husband over three years ago. I was too busy cleaning to contemplate books. Books we have are in abundance. What happens to all those things that you don't take with you, when you die? That was a question I'd pondered for decades. Now, I look for ways I can downsize without traumatizing our daughters. Without removing something I might be forced to buy once again.  I fear leaving a legacy of all those things. Things that can be cumbersome after the death of a parent.  I've only revealed to one person exactly when I'd start packing.  But I know just for compassion and ease, I'll start some packing sooner. I've dreamed of living with much less. I've practiced recently living with less. That included eating less. Monitoring how I cook, when to cook. Why would it be necessary to cook everyday when it's merely just fo

  My Ode to Norman Lear Unless you’ve been living under a rock or are too self-involved… News flash, famous television producer Norman Lear died this week at age 101. Some may say, ‘Who cares?’ But it truly matters. What he produced and left behind was a legacy and a poignant reminder that we need to address things publicly that are uncomfortable in our society, to be better educated and progress forward making the world more tolerable for all to live in. Many discomforts were addressed in Mr. Lear’s productions. To name some were: women’s issues, racial divides, war, peace, rights of others regardless of sexual orientation, economic status, and my most favorite topic, bigotry.   Ah yes, bigotry. I understood it since I could ever remember. I knew what it was. It was and is pure hatred. And I’m not going to dress it up, I’m calling it out. You see my maternal grandmother stayed silent most of the time. However, when it came to bigotry, she would stop you dead in your tracks like

  We Need the Grinch Its not that life isn’t tough enough. Its that we need to reckon with the commercialization of the meaning of many holidays. We need to reckon with how we truly feel on any day regardless of what day it is. We should not become coerced into believing we are unworthy of feeling lousy around the holidays. We need to give permission to feeling down or lousy about anything during anytime of the year. Feelings are normal. And most feelings many times are justified. Last night as I took my nightly walk in the dark. Which has become part of my discipline to add non-running miles to my running legs as part of my recovery, healing, and rebuilding to eventual higher running mileage once again. As I look around at the residential neighborhood we live in. There is rarely any traffic most times I do this nightly walk. In two to three miles, I’ll see about two to four dogs on leashes being walked. I may hear parts of a game being coached up on a field about a mile from my