Memories

I was watching a program on my local PBS station the other evening.  It was definitely not new; a few performers I recognized as having left us more than a few years back, but, it was a popular show, regularly brought out during their beg-a-thons.  I put it on while making dinner, thinking that I’d change to something else once Shelby and I settled in for the evening.  No such luck!

            The show featured music from the fifties and early sixties sung by some of the artists who made those songs popular.  It was a great program with many outstanding performances, showing that age doesn’t necessarily slow down everyone.  Or maybe it is true that music keeps you young. Occasionally, the camera would pan the audience and you’d see seniors grinning, eyes pointed to the person seated next to them.  Some were with young people, probably grandkids, but many seated next to significant others.

            A lot of the older couples were holding hands, grins spread across their faces, and eyes that shone.  A few hankies were visible. They were not sharing music, they were sharing their lives and their long ago dreams.  It didn’t take much to picture these couples slow dancing to Sarah Vaughan’s EMBRACEABLE YOU, snuggling close to UNCHAINED MELODY, or looking into each other’s eyes as Elvis serenaded them with LOVE ME TENDER.  Jerry and I related to the Everly Brothers ‘song, WAKE UP LITTLE SUSIE, after falling asleep at a drive-in movie theater and trying to explain to my parents why we were hours late getting me home. 

            Some time memories of certain songs had different meanings to us.  Take for example; I’M SO LONELY I COULD CRY and HEARTBRAKE HOTEL.  Neither song would encourage smiles but I’m sure many would be a story to tell.  JAILHOUSE ROCK might bring up some interesting recollections.  I have this picture in my head of an older man, a grandfather, who is a retired executive, living well off his pension and investments. He laughs when he hears Harry Belafonte’s BANANA BOAT SONG, remembering that he felt the same way when he was so young, doing the bottom of the ladder grunt work for the company he eventually ran.

            We may not always remember where we placed our glasses a few moments ago, but we have a tendency to remember our first kiss, our first attempt at riding a bicycle without the training wheels, or maybe, our first real friend. Memories may not always be good ones but they all have a place in our lives.  Our past impacts our future.  Today’s decisions may be based on decisions we’ve made in our past.  Do we repeat those decisions or, have maturity and experience taught us to learn from our mistakes? 

            Live today to the fullest but don’t be afraid to look back.  Remember that by tomorrow, today will be already a memory.  Make some good ones!!!

All the best for a happy and exciting New Year

Sharon

A Writer's Journey

Sometimes it can be quite difficult to explain how a writer gets from point A to point B by drifting off to points Unknown and Well Maybe.  It just happens! 

            Take for example, The Survivalist series.  Jerry and I had begun seriously considering the basic story while we still lived in Chicago.  We knew John Rourke had a survival plan and a retreat all set up for the bad days that would eventually come, but we hadn’t really fleshed out the details.  We knew it would have to be structurally sound, lasting for hundreds of years, while keeping everyone safe.  Fast forward and we are now living in Northeast Georgia.  Out on a joyride, exploring a highway we had never been on before, we reached a highpoint and before us, off in the distance, loomed Mt. Yonah.  I pulled out my camera and took a few shots and copied down the location as best as we could tell.  When we got the photos back from the lab –yes, this was the early 80s and cameras used film -- locals recognized the mountain and gave us information on some of its history.  We ran with it and gave the Rourke clan bedrooms, a full kitchen, plenty of bathrooms, a greenhouse and a greatroom complete with a waterfall.

            Driving home from a business trip in Tennessee, we pulled over to watch a large group of kayakers and tubers waiting for a dam to open, causing a rush of water to flow down the river.  The water indeed rushed down, and everyone headed in for a wild ride as they twisted and turned to prevent crashing into craggy obstacles, and each other.  The shore on both sides was mostly rocky and the entire area looked like a canyon scene in a movie western.  We both immediately agreed that it would be a great place to have a fight scene.  Again, out came the camera.  A few books later in the Survivalist, we fashioned a huge fight scene with characters climbing up the rocky slopes and some falling to their death.  Guns blazoning, hand to hand combat and bodies floating down the rapids came out pretty well, if I do say so myself.

            Sometimes, an article of clothing can help a story or become part of a character.  When we traveled, I would switch from my regular purse to one quite a bit larger so that we could keep some things closer at hand.  Jerry was one of those men who, rather than carry a lot of stuff in his pockets, would assume I would have plenty of room in my purse.  That would mean that beyond my items, my purse was the repository for extra knives, guns, handkerchiefs, and notepads.  Also business cards and extra cigarettes would be dumped in and any other items picked up along the way.  I’m sure there are plenty of women who can understand.

            Mary Francis Mulrooney carried my purse every day.  She and Culhane traveled the world with her always finding the right thing needed to save the day, somewhere, hidden in that purse.  The hardest thing for her to find was her lipstick.  The Takers were able to defeat aliens, warrior Amazon women, zombies and Blackbeard the pirate, as well as other bad dudes, so I guess I can’t begrudge them the use of my purse.

            Most times you have a pretty good idea of what your main characters look like, and are able to layer in their particular personalities and peculiarities, but secondary characters might come to you differently.  Imagine stopping off for a quick burger at your local fast food joint and as you casually glance around the room, you spy a middle-age man, sitting alone, with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of him. At first glance he seems normal, but then you notice he’s wearing a rather heavy, bulky-looking coat on a hot and humid afternoon.  Is he concealing something?  Could he be armed?  But maybe he’s an undercover cop!  Could he be wearing a bomb, ready to blow up the place and scatter the greasy fries and onion rings to the four winds?  There’s always the possibility that he has nothing on underneath the coat and this is all part of a dare.  But why does he keep looking out the window as if he’s waiting for someone or something?

            While you are still trying to decipher the overdressed man, you home in on a screeching bird sound emanating from a tall, skinny woman, up at the counter. She’s complaining about her order and the young girl behind the counter is trying to be understanding and polite.  The woman is tall and thin, wearing large framed glasses resting precariously on the tip of her rather pointed nose.  She would be hilarious in a comic short story about an unpleasant, stupid, ostrich, flapping her beak and wings and getting nowhere.

            The next time you’re out in public and you see some stranger staring at you, it may be because of your fantastic good looks, or, it might be something entirely beyond your comprehension.  Remember not to pick your nose!  You may become part of someone’s newest adventure.

Sharon

Are the 2020s a Return to the 1960s? Nostalgia or Grim Prophecy

A few weeks ago, during their latest beg-a-thon, my local public television station ran a concert devoted to the songs and groups of the 60s.  I’ve seen it before; it’s one of those programs they show frequently during pledge drives.  I don’t know what year it was first produced, but I’m sure many of those performers are no longer with us.  People my age can’t help but smile and sing along to the diverse songs that came out of that era.  Love and protest, fear for the future, and just crazy, silly were all in the mix.

            Jerry and I had rather diverse tastes in music.  I was into The Animals and Gerry and the Pacemakers, and Jerry was a Frank Sinatra fan as well as Bing Crosby.  We could agree on Mel Torme and Neil Diamond, but Jerry couldn’t stand it when I put on a Rod McKuen album, and I left the room when he sang along with Robert Goulet.  Remembering these songs brought back the good old days of the sixties. 

            The Beatles invaded our shores and encouraged other tuneful groups to follow, causing musical mayhem and long, shaggy hair among the boys.  We girls shortened our skirts to where lady-like sitting had to be practiced in front of a mirror.  Woodstock and “hippies” became popular conversation items, and many of us went to the corner store to buy “ciggies.” 

            The Civil Rights Act was signed by President Dwight Eisenhower, although not everyone was thrilled, and not everyone felt protected.   Protests and marches were common.  Women were still fighting for equal rights.  In some cases, we still are.  I remember going to a local bank in the 1980s and asked if my husband knew I was making a withdrawal!  The birth control pill was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration in 1960.

            Let’s not forget that the 1960s is when Ken became enamored with Barbie and they became a forever couple.  I’m not sure what Ken was doing while Barbie kept changing jobs.  I mean, she was a stewardess one day and a veterinarian the next, etc.  Did she become an astronaut before or after Neil Armstrong landed on the moon?  Charlie Brown’s Christmas premiered, and Sesame Street characters became household friends.

            Dr. No, the first James Bond film, premiered, and ABC begins color telecasts for a few hours each week.  The musical Hair becomes a hit, and the US Senate debated a report accusing folk music of promoting Communism.  President Kennedy established the Peace Corps. Spider Man was introduced in 1962 by Marvel Comics, and four years later, he had his own television show.

            On the practical side, pull tabs on cans were introduced, LSD was declared illegal, and seat belts become standard on Studebakers.  Medicare was established, and postage stamps were raised to the outrageous price of six cents. 

            The Sixties were also an explosive time in history.  Our country became involved in the war in Vietnam, and a draft lottery is held.  Many young men were sent far from home to fight a war they didn’t understand. Agent Orange became a popular item to reduce vegetation in the war-stricken areas of Vietnam, but we didn’t learn until later that vegetation wasn’t all it killed. The Cuban Missile Crisis got us close to the brink of the Cold War, and bomb shelters became popular backyard additions. 

            College campuses became hotbeds for political unrest, and protests were common.   We watched on television young people being dragged away by police when demonstrations got out of hand.  Many people watching saw this as police brutality. 

            President John Kennedy was shot dead by an assassin.  The debate goes on about whether there was more than one shooter involved.  The known assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, was then shot and killed by Jack Ruby.  We watched this live on television.  According to his killer, Robert Kennedy was assassinated because of his pro-Israeli sympathies. Martin Luther King Jr., a social activist who spearheaded the civil rights movement, was shot and killed in Memphis, Tennessee.  The list could go on, but I think you get my drift.

            Do you ever think that maybe the 2020s are looking a lot like the 1960s?  We have renewed interest in Space exploration.  Barbie and Ken have their own movie.  We’re entering another Cold War.  Women’s rights are still debatable in some areas.  Television programming is virtually unlimited, but whether or not there’s something worth watching is questionable.  Today’s music is just as eclectic as it was in the 60s, and James Bond is still out there saving the world from bad guys along with Spider Man and the Hulk.

            Let’s also remember that terrorism is still out there and a new generation of political dissidents and crazy people who want nothing more than to kill for their twisted beliefs or for the thrill.  Only sick minds want to kill children or think that shooting a person will change our political beliefs.  Gun control is not the answer; common sense and responsibility are.  Will people reminisce about the 2020s in 2060?

Sharon

THREADS

Thrift stores can be the beginning of adventure and discovery.  You may not be looking for anything in particular, but many times you will come across an unexpected or unique object that you realize you must bring home.  For some, it’s a piece of clothing or jewelry that reminds you of an earlier time.  For some, it may be furniture to fill in the spaces of an apartment or house. Remodelers can find new sinks or bathtubs, left over from a contractor’s last job, or leftover molding that would be perfect to repurpose as picture frames.  Yogurt makers, crock pots, bicycle helmets, and golf clubs are yours for just a few dollars, as are plates and cups from every tourist spot you’ve never been to.

            My favorite section of the store holds craft items.  If I’m lucky, I’ll discover some yarn.  If I’m really lucky, I’ll discover more than one skein of the same color and weight yarn.  Sometimes the yarn will still be encased in its wrapper.  Other times, it may be rolled into a ball as if it had been readied for a project.  I might find material, perhaps left over from a drapery or upholstering project.  Sometimes the material will only be a yard or less.  Sometimes, I’ve hit the bonanza and found enough yardage to make a pair of drapes or redo several worn-out chair seats.  There may be a plastic box with discarded lengths of ribbon or lacey edgings. Sadly, you come across half finished or half started, depending on the way you look at it, holiday decorations or quilts or crocheted items; a blanket, doll clothing, or a silly, squishy animal that never had its limbs attached..

            Why are these items on these shelves and bins?  Did the owner buy too much material or yarn for their project?  I hope that’s the answer.  Did they just give up because the project became too burdensome or time-consuming?  Well, you bring your stash up to the counter and pluck down a few dollar bills, and walk out, 

            Home, you spend a few quiet moments taking your finds out of the plastic bag and sorting them, deciding what potential project you see before you.  That large ball of pink yarn catches your eye, and you unroll a yard or so and stop!  A red dot, no, more than one dot!  Could this be blood?  Another skein of a different color has a crochet hook nestled inside.  This ordinarily is not uncommon, but paired with what you definitely think is a bloodied skein of yarn, is looking pretty suspicious.  Was the hook used to stab the crocheter, or did the crocheter use it against someone else?  Why is Santa’s head missing from the unfinished Christmas tree skirt?  Is it a clue?  Why is the name Anne embroidered into a quilt patch?  Was that perfectly good crockpot used to simmer a poisonous substance?

            After all items are examined, you put them away for the time being.  Eventually, you’ll find something to do with your newly acquired craft items, but first, you need to sit down and start writing the story of the murdered or murderous crocheter. 

                        Maybe change the yarn. Pink is kinda sissy.

                        Would a steel knitting needle work better?

                        Who the heck is Anne?

Did I really need that crock pot?

   Fiction writing can be challenging but crafty.

   Sharon

Thank you for our Good Old Days

The Stanley Cup Playoffs are finally over and the trophy will be enjoying the good life in Sunrise, Florida, until next year’s winning team is announced.  After watching four rounds of best of seven games, I’ve seen enough Hockey to last me until next season. Most of the “summer games” don’t hold my interest as much so I guess I’ll have to find something else to while away my evenings.  I sure do miss the summers of long ago.

            Bike riding was the number one sport in our neighborhood.  I remember staring out the window watching kids race past my house, a veritable blur of reds and blues.  The cool kids customized their rides with balloons or baseball cards wedged in the spokes of the wheels, making a sputtering, racecar sound.  I wanted to be out there!  I knew I could ride just as fast and be a racer to be reckoned with!

            Hinting, suggesting, out and out begging didn’t work with my mother.  “You’ll hurt yourself,” she said.  Do you see any other girls out there?”  The only other girl in the neighborhood was a dweeb who recreated by sitting on her porch steps, watching the cars go by.  We finally got to a “maybe when you’re older” response.  Magically, on Christmas day, a blue girl’s Schwinn bicycle, with training wheels, was nestled next to the tree.  Dreams do come true!

            Unfortunately, December, January, February, etc., usually coincides with lots of snow in Chicago. My brand new hot rod transportation remained in the living room until enough snow melted or got blown away for my mother to allow my lessons to commence.  After a few shaky starts, I got the hang of it and was ready to travel on my own.  Then my mom laid down the rule that I couldn’t go further than my house and the one next door.  That was about as good as driving a Ferrari the length of a swimming pool!!!  My dad intervened and was able to negotiate a deal where I could go to the end of our street, if I was careful.

            Needless to say, the training wheels soon came off and I steadily expanded my territory.  My Schwinn and I roared through the neighborhood, baseball cards clicking and my hair blowing in the wind.  Yes, I did end up crashing into a tree and rearranging the handlebars and bike chain, as well as dinging up the metal and my knees. Was it worth it?  YES.

                A few years later, my boyfriend, Jerry, confessed that he had never ridden a bicycle.  That was a memorable summer, full of laughs and life threatening moments.  Our neighbors never understood why their garage doors had scratches and dents or why their garbage cans were moved.  Somehow, they missed hearing the screams and occasional expletives coming from the alleyways behind their houses. 

            For a final test, I took him to the neighborhood park and let him ride on the pathways.  He started going downhill a little too fast and I found him, bike under him, feet planted on the ground, right at the edge of the lagoon.  We gave up his lessons for a while.  It might have been a problem if he had fallen into the lagoon since he didn’t know how to swim either.  He eventually did get the hang of bike riding and we both looked back on that summer as one of the really best of “the good old days.” 

            I wonder what the writers of the Declaration of Independence would think about their country now that it’s all grown up.  Would they be surprised at what we have become or dismayed?  Regardless, we are a multifaceted people, coming from places unknown in their time, with challenges and aspirations unfamiliar and or similar to theirs.  I personally think Benjamin Franklin, with his scientific mind, and broad sense of humor, would chuckle a bit.  The rest of the signers, I don’t know how they would take us.  All I know for sure is that they gave up a lot for us to be here today.  Five of those signers were captured by the British, tortured and killed. Twelve signers had their homes burned to the ground.  Two signers had sons killed in the Revolutionary War and two signers had sons captured.  Nine signers fought in the war and died for us. 

            These fifty-six men who drafted and signed the Declaration of Independence gave much of their lives so that we can remember our “Good Old Days.” Let us hope that our children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren will have good memories to pass on, and will remember that our freedom was not and will never be free,

Sharon