Bear With Me......

 

 

The weather forecast is dire...the two weeks just behind us have been frigid and bleak.  The beauty that one finds in a winter scene has given way to frozen landscape, snow rollers and trees that groan under the strain of their icy burden.  If I sound as if I am sick of winter....I am.

I think for the first time I understand why some animals hibernate.  Bears gorge themselves on berries, plants, and any slower animals they happen upon in preparation.  They pile on a thick layer of fat,  then simply curl up and sleep.   All in all not a bad way to diet.

Although I spent the fall months bulking up as if I were planning a long fast, I have remained awake. In the few hours of watery daylight we seem to eek out at this time of year I feel lethargic at best.   Most mornings it is nearly dark when I leave the house, often it is dark when I return.   By seven pm I feel as if I've been up for days, and my instincts tell me it is time to sleep, sleep, sleep. With the same helpless feelings I experienced fighting  insomnia over the last forty years, I now find myself dealing with a desire to sleep ten hours a day.

It was February of last year when my insomnia left and my desire to hibernate kicked in.  Over my lifetime I have taken herbs, prescription drugs, purchased every shape and size of bed pillow on the market, and tried every kookie thing friends and acquaintances suggested, to help me sleep.  I've put Vicks Vapo Rub on my feet and worn heavy socks to bed.  I've drunk hot milk, hot toddies and eaten pasta before bedtime on the promise that carbs make you sleepy.  I've tried to sleep propped up, flat out, and slightly tipsy....all to no avail.  I was completely resigned to being what I had always been; the woman running on three or four hours sleep every day.

Nothing had changed when we left for vacation last year at this time.  No medicine, no diet changes, no exercise program....nothing was different.  We headed south, and our first night we stayed at a beautiful new hotel.  I admired the lovely room, crawled into what looked like an acre of white linen, and slept like a baby for the first time in a very long time.

The next morning I felt something strange; eventually I realized this foreign feeling was what some people referred to as 'rested'.  I chalked it up to the hotel bed.   It only confirmed what I've always firmly believed....hotel bedding comes straight from heaven and cannot be purchased by mere mortals.

We arrived at our destination and proceeded to enjoy the sun, the sand, and doing nothing.  A couple of days passed before it dawned on me that I had continued to sleep through the night.  I wasn't the first one up to make coffee...and I had missed the sunrise!  What in the world?

That whole vacation time I was afraid to look at my sleeping experience too closely for fear I'd screw it up.  Before I knew it we were heading home...and I seemed to be leaving my insomnia in the rear view mirror.

And so, here I am one year later fighting off my desire to hibernate.  I am convinced I could crawl into bed on October 31st and rub the sleep from my eyes on April 1st.  I no longer get up at two a.m. to write, I don't haunt the internet hoping for a sleepless Facebook friend to chat with.  The only down side I can find is I now have six fewer hours each day to work with. I can live with that.

If I had a clue as to why this change has occurred I would share the wealth with the multitude of women my age who complain of being unable to sleep, or stay asleep, every single night.  I don't have a magic potion...all I have to share with you is the hope that one day you will wake up rested and refreshed.  It may take you a while to identify the feeling....but once you get used to it you'll love it.

I don't try to explain it and I don't question it.  I know my night-prowling insomnia can return whenever it wants to...so I don't look a gift horse (or a hibernating bear) in the mouth.

                                                             Life is Good

Picture This

 

 

 

The best gift I received this past Christmas was some photographs of my grandchildren.  Although I have enough picture frames stashed in the basement to open my own gift shop, I decided I wanted something different.  Without hesitation I jumped on the internet and started looking around.

As my electronic shopping progressed things started opening that I hadn’t clicked on; one of them being the website for Saks Fifth Avenue.   Being the TJ Maxx kind of gal I am I don’t shop Saks very often, but what the heck.  I typed in ‘picture frames’ and was immediately dumped out on the Ralph Lauren items on their site.  Fine with me…I love everything Ralph Lauren does, except the fashion photos with emaciated, ectomorphic females striking impossible poses.  Generally these skinny young lasses are standing in positions that only occur just before your legs go out from under you on an icy sidewalk.  They’re young….they’ll learn…and that’s another column.

My cursor finally arrived at an attractive brown frame.  Scrolling down I discovered it was the “Ralph Lauren, Bennett series, faux (that still means fake, right?) Croc picture frame.  Choose from 5 x 7 or 8 ½ x 11 sizes and this tastefully crafted, imported (that still means made in Japan, doesn’t it?) frame will only set you back from $395.00 to $695.00.  The body of the descriptive copy assured me it ‘exudes modern polish’. 

My mind immediately began to play out the conversation I would have with my husband if a bill arrived for this picture frame…….

He:  “Someone must have stolen our credit card!  There’s a charge on here for seven hundred bucks to Saks Fifth Avenue.”

Me:   “Well, ah……”         

He:  Huh?

Me:  “You remember the terrific pictures we got of the children for Christmas?  I had enough frames for all but one, so I shopped on the internet.”

He:  Ashen faced, “You paid seven hundred dollars for a picture frame?”

Me:  “Not JUST a picture frame. A Ralph Lauren Bennett series faux croc picture frame!  And it’s imported…”

He:  “That still means made in Japan, doesn’t it?”

Me:   “The smaller one was only four hundred dollars, but the picture was too large, so I thought…..”

He:  “You paid seven hundred dollars for a picture frame.”  This time it was not a question, but a tightly controlled statement of fact.

Me:  “They gave me free shipping….”

At this point my day dream stops, because even I can’t imagine what my husband might do next if he discovered a seven hundred dollar picture frame on our charge card.  Let’s just say if you have to explain it, you probably can’t afford it.

                                                                    Life is Good

 

Just Talk to the Bird

I am a great collector of pictures that ‘speak’ to me.  That’s not quite accurate…I am an accumulator, not a collector.  Be that as it may I save pictures that touch my heart and speak to my mind in files on my laptop, on my iPad, in my iPhone.   I squirrel away manila files that have clippings and I have photo albums with pictures that are going to be my future projects or goals I’ve set for myself.  Suffice it to say…I’m a picture hoarder.

Today my iPad warned me that my hoarding has reached critical mass, and I must purge some things or pay the technical consequences.  That started me looking through pictures and this one struck a cord with me……

 

Studying this I wondered why I chose to save this picture?  It's not as if I'm for or against birds….they serve their purpose and I serve my own.  I guess too many of them put me into “Alfred Hitchcock” mode, and I begin to worry that they might swoop down on me.   Twice in my lifetime I’ve had a bird decide to come into the closed dining room window without invitation.   After repeatedly throwing itself against the glass for days on end, the bird finally left…I’m not sure if it was in a birdie rescue squad or not.

So…I studied the picture and, as they always do, it spoke to me.   It said “faith”.  Here is a beautiful creature of nature enjoying a meal for which it neither worked nor paid.  It isn’t carrying a water bottle, a billfold or credit cards, and it isn’t scurrying off to a job.  The bird takes it on faith that there will be another tree or bush with fruit for him to eat.  He knows water will be provided, and he desires nothing more.  The bird obviously lives close enough to nature to know his needs will be met.  I need to take a lesson from this bird.

Each morning as I struggle to my car carrying a heavy assortment of what I have determined to be my daily needs, I know there must be a better way.  In my wheeled laptop case I have my computer for writing.  In one of the side pockets I carry my ipad; another pocket contains all the cords and converters needed to feed power to all of my devices. Over my shoulder the strap of my purse digs in; the weight of my handbag is unbelieveable!  Then I’m also schlepping my lunch bag, which contains enough food to save the Donnor party.  I usually have at least one bottle of water, and into this juggling act I add a travel mug of coffee. 

Between computers and cell phone and daytimer I carry enough electronics to operate the space shuttle, and if I am stranded in a snow drift I have food for at least one uncomfortable, but life sustaining, week.  My enormous handbag contains a dozen or so credit cards stuffed into a billfold large enough to live on its own, at least a months accumulation of unopened mail and sales receipts, and a bag of makeup that I do not use but won’t leave home without.  At any given time I’ve got at least four dollars in paper money and a minimum of seventeen dollars in change lurking at the bottom of the bag.  I also carry tea bags and the brand of artificial sweetner I prefer.  Restaurants generally don’t carry it, but I can never find it in this mess when I need it anyway.

I admire women who carry tiny little purses because I know they have more faith in the world than I do.  Unless I leave the house with all this ‘stuff’ I feel vulnerable and unprepared to deal with life.  I obviously lack the faith that the little bird in the picture has…and I envy him.   I have this abiding understanding that someday all this stuff will come in handy; the never ending scavenger hunt that has become my daily routine will pay off.    

And so, the picture of this lovely bird whispers to me about faith, while my urban survivalist instincts keep me dragging things to and from my car.  But just remember this…if you’re one of those people who goes out into the world totally unprepared and suddenly discovers you’re in desperate need of a colander…just talk to the bird.

                                                                 Life is Good  

 

 

2013 Behind me.....2014 Before me.

I am sitting here at my desk looking at a fresh, new calendar for the year 2014.  There’s not a mark on it…but I’m about to start filling the squares with appointments for doctors, dentists, story interviews and get-togethers that are already scheduled and planned.   As I flip through the pages of the retired and marked up 2013 calendar, notes jump out to remind me about the past twelve months of my life.

Looking at these unmarked pages it occurs to me we all start the New Year with some things in common………

For starters, we all have the human body to deal with.  We have all felt the effects of inflation, but even at today’s prices its elements are only worth about $4.70.   Granted, the condition of this vehicle can vary greatly from person to person.  Still…it’s something we all have.

Assuming you have an average human brain, it is processing 400 billion bits of information a second.   At best you’re only aware of about 2,000 of those bits, and your sense of “reality” is filtered through your sense organs.  Think of your brain as a very sophisticated computer….garbage in, garbage out.    

If we are fortunate enough to live, by the end of 2014 we will each have been given 365 days experienced in split second increments. It’s up to use to determine what we do with those seconds, hours, days, weeks and months.  An organized friend of mine says she reaps all kinds of benefits by taking just two minutes a day to be grateful for this life she has been given.  It must be time well invested, because she gets more done in one day than most of us do in a week.

Another friend insists time somehow expands when she fills some of those calendar squares with regular visits to shut-ins, or plans time to sit with a friend who is sick.  Maybe this could be the year you work your plan to visit a nursing home to read to someone who can no longer do that for himself. Perhaps you could fill just one of those calendar squares each month with a scheduled time to reach out and touch someone else’s life.    

Flipping through the pages of this dog-eared date book I know too many of those days were unproductive because I allowed myself to be bored in a world that offers much, but needs even more help.  This used calendar stares back and holds me accountable in a very definite way.

So, here I sit, looking at this colorful new calendar just waiting to be filled with the day to day events that will become the next year of my life.   Even though life is unpredictable and we may not be able to control the number of days we have to fill, we can control how we fill the days we are given.

I’m not suggesting that the year 2014 should be the year you prepare yourself for sainthood, I know I sure won’t.   What I am suggesting is that we all have certain things in common, and if we take control over those we can do uncommon things.  Fill in some of those dates with things that will bring happy memories as you sit and look at 2014 from the other end of the calendar.

                                                      Happy New Year   

                                                           Life is Good 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's Time to say Merry Christmas!!!!

I have discovered the only way I can manage to have any Christmas spirit to enjoy is to be very protective of it.  This year I did something different; I officially started looking, listening and watching Christmas things on December 13^th.  It’s taken some effort, but I think I’ve pulled it off quite nicely, thank you very much!

Since October I have been avoiding displays of Christmas decorations.  This certainly hasn’t been achieved without some real effort…I’ve done it by putting on my shopping blinders and not looking too far to my right or left.  I have dodged displays of the M & M’s characters wearing Christmas hats…Budweiser Clydesdales dancing to Christmas music…and the Grinch leering at me from cardboard cut outs stationed with various and sundry products. 

Recording anything you care to watch and fast forwarding through the commercials is a great way to avoid early Christmas burn out as well.  I don’t know when anything is on…and I can never catch part two of anything…but I have missed all the expensive cars with bows around them…the “as seen on TV” ads for stretchy bras and two hundred foot long garden hoses that you can carry in a match box.  I have also tuned out of the home shopping networks and the Christmas shows that started on November first.  The first Christmas thing I watched was the Celtic Women show on PBS last week.  I was humming Christmas music for a couple of days after that.

I hate to break this news to all the big broadcast companies but…the surprise is over.  Knowing what is coming I’ve turned off my radio.  The war to see who can get 24 hour Christmas music started first has probably been fought in every market…and I don’t care.  When I worked in radio and was forced to listen to Christmas music for eight solid weeks I was ready to bludgeon anyone who wished me “Merry Christmas” by the time it actually rolled around.  Too much of a good thing is….well, too much.

We still get the Sunday paper at our house, so for two months the first thing I’ve done is pull all the “Christmas Giving” sale papers out and toss them in the trash.  Two weeks before Christmas is time enough to look at that stuff, too.

In my sincere efforts to not become a “Christmas Curmudgeon” I have likely missed some good sales…probably missed some Christmas programs that were not too bad…and definitely missed the “After Christmas Sales” that started in mid-December.  But you know what?  I have a healthy Christmas spirit because I haven’t used it all up trying to fend off advertising and premature celebration of an event that should be cherished.  I’ve said “Merry Christmas” and meant it…and I am going to be this protective of my Christmas spirit every year from here on out because it works for me.

Now that I’ve confessed to having become a bit reclusive about my holidays I do have to admit I may have overlooked something.  On the way into work this morning I heard Silent Night done to a calypso beat.  When did that happen?

                                     Merry Christmas to all…and to all a good night.

                                                             Life is Good

 

The Duck Hunters

 

Of all the things I am totally sick of, and there are too many to count at this point, the media set-ups and all the corresponding drama has got to be near the top of the list.

Today it is the Duck Dynasty debacle.  I have never seen the show and nothing I’ve seen on the news makes me want to change that fact.  I do not know the name of the long bearded, head banded, Willie Nelson look alike they’ve shown on the web today.  He has also shown up in my email on “support whatshisname” posters for a couple of days now.  He is the latest in a long line of victims in the media shooting gallery…I don’t envy him.

What is the media “shooting gallery” you might ask?  It is the entertainment/news hybrid that now passes for news/information in our society.   This machine selects candidates from a long list of people who are ‘out there’ in the public eye.  The stronger they are in their belief systems, the better target they make.

Enter the long bearded, head banded, Willie Nelson look alike that produces duck calls somewhere in the Deep South.  He and his clan (from what I’ve gleaned only in passing) are very wealthy, very hairy, and very opinionated.  In this instance, I gather they are born again Christians who make no apologies for their beliefs.  The clan is promoted in a reality TV show that showcases their ability to grow hair and produce duck calls…all wrapped up in their box of family values with a big red religious bow on top.

Now….here comes the fun part!!  You get the long bearded leader an interview with one of the hip and sophisticated writers of a trendy magazine.  Can you feel the fun beginning to build??   The bearded man is who he is, and the cagey interviewer knows exactly who he is talking to.  It doesn’t take a lot of figuring to know if you ask this man a direct question he will give you a direct answer.  After all, you’ve gone to their home to make fun of them and show everyone what these plain talking, backwoods hicks look like, right?  This is your opportunity to create something bigger than just a one-time interview, so you ask direct questions you know this man cannot (and will not) back away from.   It’s a short walk to use that answer to stir up a big old controversy that will sell magazines, fill news casts, enrage and outrage a good segment of the population, and make even more Americans afraid to answer a direct question honestly.

These set ups are manufactured by a drama hungry media that has no respect, no sympathy and no conscience.  They love to create these tempests in a tea pot to fill air time and print space.  It really doesn’t matter if the storm is about race, sexual orientation, politics or something else…it all sells.

It’s sad to say, but with each one of these we lose a little more freedom of speech and a little more control over our lives.  We could all do well to live our lives with more dignity and fewer “my way or the highway” thoughts about our fellow man.  I am completely disinterested in what the bearded fellow had to say about his religious beliefs (to which he is entitled, by the way) but I am dismayed by the fact that he is being punished for saying it. 

There will always be disagreements about religion…there will always be rights to fight for and changes that need to be made in this and every society.  Our precious freedom of speech has already been fought and paid for with the blood of our ancestors.  That right gives any bone head, whether he/she is gay, straight, white, black, Christian or atheist, the right to speak out and speak up.  It’s a double edged sword…but it is a righteous one.  

This country desperately needs a hero; someone who can promote the dialog between groups without seeking the spotlight or worrying about producing advertising revenues.  I haven’t seen anyone like that in a long, long time.     

                     In the worlds of the late Rodney King, “Why can’t we all just get along?”

Little Things.

Little Things....

Looking through pictures and posts I found this picture of a Mercury head dime. It took my thoughts back to two of these dimes that are very precious; I just didn’t know it at the time.

My three children are very close in age, and when they were small it seemed my washer and dryer never stopped. One hot summer day I was distressed to find more water on the basement floor than in the washer. The steady stream of hot water was leaking from a greatly appreciated turquoise stack set that my Dad had bought for us. They were gently used when I got them, and hadn’t stopped since they arrived.

I tried to find the source of the water but eventually I gave up and called my Dad. In those early days of marriage my husband worked long hours, and Pop was the one I always called for help. Of course he came over right away.

Soon my little washer looked naked as Pop took off panels and pulled out parts,  removing things I didn’t even know could be removed. He was flat on his belly on the basement floor, muttering expletives, when I finally heard him say, “Here’s your problem!”

Rolling over my dad showed me the two Mercury head dimes he held in the palm of his hand. They had somehow gotten into the pump, tumbling around in the water so long the copper edges now formed a copper ring around each dime.

I ' m proud to say I inherited my “ I can fix it” mentality from my Pop. Instead of an expensive new pump, he went to the store and bought some gunk you would use to fix an aquarium. Keeping his fingers in the pump he repaired the hole, keeping his hand deep inside the machine until the patch dried. In no time my little turquoise washer was as good as new. I thought my Pop could fix anything….or at least I always knew he’d try. Nothing was really broken till he ran out of duct tape, and while the fix might not be pretty, it was still a fix.

I held on to the tumbled dimes. I asked my husband to drill tiny holes in them (my apologies to the US Treasury) and put sterling silver wires through them to create pierced earrings that I still have today.

Fast forward about thirty five years, give or take a few. Now I sat at my Pop’s bedside, knowing he was very near his last hours on this earth. I had returned to be with him in the middle of the night; I sat holding his hand and talking to him without knowing if he could hear me. The very precious time was ticking away.

I talked on and on about everything and anything I could think of…from the activity of the squirrel outside his window to what the newspaper held….all with no response. I chattered on as if, somehow, my voice could anchor him here.

Finally I got around to telling him what a wonderful father he had always been, and how much I had learned from him. I recounted the story about the Mercury head dimes he had pulled from the cranky washing machine pump that day.  I recounted the good laugh I’d had at his expense when his hand got stuck in the machine. I smiled as I reminded him how he had saved the day by fixing my washer……without opening his eyes he squeezed my hand.

I kept talking, telling him I still had the earrings I had made….and he squeezed my hand again. I knew then that he realized I was there and that this time we had together was some of the most valuable time I would ever have in my life. That was the last response he made to any stimulation; I am eternally grateful I was there.

As I’ve grown older I’ve come to realize that our lives are made up of small things that often we don’t see for the big things they actually are.   Do yourself a favor, slow down and learn to embrace the small things before they become memories.

                                                                          Life is Good

Cooking for the voices in my head.

It's getting ugly out there....

Not long ago I was thrust into the role of ‘people watcher’ while waiting for a friend.   During that half hour I arrived at some very definite fashion ideas I would like to share with you.  I'm not being judgemental...I'm just sayin' :

I am in favor of women of all ages dressing fashionably, and I don’t think you’re ever ‘too old’ for a pair of comfortable jeans.  Having said that, perhaps women should re-think the “I just fell off the back of a motorcycle” look after the age of 25.   If you are 65 and postponing your clothes shopping for the week you will be in Sturgis….well, you get my drift.

I think manufacturers should consider putting age tags in grownup clothes the same as they do for infants and toddlers.  Instead of 0 to 12 months a tag might say 20-Y to 34 years.   If you see 2T inside the collar of a shirt you have a good idea if this is the right size for your grandson.  By the same token, a tag that says 18-Y to 24-Y inside a bikini might lead you to the understanding that a bright pink bikini might not be the right choice for your 56 year old keester.  Some women need that kind of help, and I saw a lot of them.  A good alternative might be to require a prescription to purchase a leather halter top.

Makeup is another thing that caught my eye as I sat watching people parade past.  In my (never to be) humble opinion make up is a good idea IF you know how to use it.  It’s all about enhancing or disguising.  Some women fall for what I call the “Vogue effect”.  We’ve all seen the pictures in Vogue magazine with models sporting glitter covered eyelashes, pink eyelids and lips that look like bathroom plungers.  That is for effect…not a guide for what to wear at the grocery.  If you’ve started to look like Tammy Faye Baker (rest her soul) or if you are applying your make up with a spatula, you might want to get the opinion of a trusted friend on toning down your look.

I did not see one hair style that made me change my long standing opinion that hair color should be confined to colors found in nature.  Personally I don’t like purple hair, green or blue stripes, or cotton candy pink.   I’m not at all creative when it comes to hair…mine or anyone else’s.  I think clean and combed is enough to satisfy my hair requirements, so it’s probably a good thing I’m not in charge.

Bling.  What is this preoccupation with anything that is shiny?  Rows and rows of golden chains, earrings with diamonds that would choke a Chihuahua, and clanking bangles that announce the arrival of a woman with earrings that could have been wind chimes.  Tacky, tinkly, sparkly … gold lame patches on sweatshirts and animal print, diamond studded shoes…oh, my!! 

Finally I am left with this last question.  Why would anyone wear clothes that do not fit them comfortably?  My bet is that most of the folks that walked past me were in search of another pair of slacks/jeans in the same ill-fitting size they had on.   Muffin tops and tortured seams were the order of the day….but why?  Just because you can stuff your frame into a ten doesn’t mean you should….and it sure doesn’t mean you’re a ten!!  

Clothing that fits properly is much more attractive on everyone, and I’m not just nagging the women. Too many men wear jeans that fit under an expanding belly.  The result is back pockets that rest just above the red stripe on the dudes white tube socks.  Not an exciting look.

There must be some middle ground between wearing a tuxedo and going out of the house looking like the cast of Duck Dynasty.  Let’s look for it before it’s too late, America.  It’s getting ugly out there!!

 

                                                          Life is Good

 

The House on the Corner

 

August 28, 2013 was an eighty four degree, ninety five percent humidity mid-Ohio day.  What started out as showers in the morning had ended up as a sticky, airless afternoon.

If it seems to you I’m always dragging my poor husband out to do unpredictable things with me, you would be right.  On this particular day we headed to the house at the corner of Fifth and Walnut Streets in downtown Mansfield to flesh out a story I’d been working on.  The article, a review of the book The Corner of Fifth and Walnut, is in the November/December issue of Heart of Ohio Magazine.  I have to admit I set out to do this story to answer my own curiosity.  If, in the effort,  a lot of other people get the same result, then it’s worth doing…don’t you think?

The house, long boarded up for security reasons, is currently owned by Grant Milliron, also the owner of Milliron Industries.  When I spoke to him about the house, I asked if a ‘tour’ would be possible.  Grant said he had a bag with 500 keys in it; he would see what he could come up with…and sure enough I ended up with a key to the house!

So it was that we found ourselves parked on Walnut Street, directly in front of the red brick house on the corner.  We struggled up the small incline; stone steps visible but un-usable in the corner of the yard.  The snaggle-toothed front porch greeted us; I hoisted myself up on it at the risk of ruining a good pair of slacks.  Why don’t I think of these things before hand? 

Larry stood checking out the hinged cover on the front door.  We carefully made certain not to stand too close together as we crossed the spongy wooden deck.   After determinedly working the padlock, the door cover swung open, and the actual door to the house stared out at us.  I could read the obscenities spray painted on the inside of the glass as I peered into the darkness.

I carried one of two huge flashlights we had brought along; it’s bright beam sliced into the darkness of the small room to the left of us.   Directly in front of the entrance door a staircase wound its way up into the second floor.   Although the peeling paint spoke of the years that have passed, I could imagine a little girl in dark stockings wriggling up that staircase, chased by a little boy in suspenders and knickers.   Eileen Levison’s comment* about this being a great house for children with creative minds came back to me; the nooks and crannies they enjoyed while they were at play stood out to me as we carefully explored.

The plywood covered windows did their job, keeping even the smallest glimmer of light at bay.  Inching around the first floor we found small rooms partitioned off to make even smaller spaces.  Many doors covered with ceiling tile; soundproofing for what purpose in this eerily quiet house?  The thick, red brick walls kept the sounds of traffic and life in general at a dreamy distance.

Larry climbed to the top of the staircase and, peering around,  announced it might not be prudent to go up there with so little light.   He also pointed out that the 150 year old wooden floors might take offense at our added weight; I did not disagree with him.

The years, the vandals and the elements have left their mark on the house at the corner of Fifth and Walnut Streets.  My fondest hope is that someone comes up with an idea to restore it, there is so much left to work with!  How I would love to be involved in that project. 

My husband says I see things the way they could be, while he is bound fast to reality.   Still, I can’t help wonder…is there someone out there who can hear the children scampering up the steps, and perhaps see the circus marching down Fifth Street?  If that person comes along, Mary Eileen Schuler Levison’s former home will be around for a long, long time.
 

*The Corner of Fifth and Walnut, written by Mary Eileen Schuler Levison

Book Review:  The Corner of Fifth and Walnutr, November/December Heart of Ohio Magazine

 

 

I Know You're Out There.....

It’s really hard for me to imagine but I just passed my second anniversary writing this blog.  I had no idea when I started if I’d be able to keep it up, but I just passed 139 posts.  I’ve also just passed the 10,500 visitors mark.  That means over ten thousand people have visited my blog, or one person ten thousand times…etc., etc.  

Which brings me to an obvious question: 

Who are all of you??  I don’t know ten thousand people (or 50 dedicated people, etc., etc.)!!!

Although it may exist, there is no software program that I know about, or that I could very likely operate, that would tell me the names and locations of everyone who stops by my blog.  There are some general things I can tell from the diagnostics that I have available.  I have a reader in the Ukraine, three in China, one in Jamaica and one in England (Thank you, Phillip).   74% of my readers use windows, and 45% visit me via Firefox.  I can usually tell when I have a new reader because I see the older posts being perused.  Right now I think someone in Germany is reading the novella, Stalk, that I wrote last year.  Thank you for visiting!

Blogging is a very personal thing, and because of that it’s been rather difficult for me.  It’s one thing to write advertising copy or stories about other people; quite another to put my own thoughts and experiences down for others to read.  I’m an introverted extrovert…if there is such a thing.  My work life has always forced me to be ‘out there’…but people who really know me understand that I’m rather introverted when I don’t have a microphone or podium in front of me.  Writing about other people is a privilege…writing about me, not so much.

Another thing I wonder about is the lack of comments. I know it was technically difficult at first to leave comments on the blog…I heard over and over that is didn’t work.  I think I have that fixed now, but people still don’t often leave comments.  Is that good?  Is that bad?  Are readers speechless because the post is so good?....because the post is so bad?   How can there be 10,500 visits and only a dozen comments?  The other thing in “blog-speak” that has me mystified is “followers”.   I have 14….that’s curious with so many visitors, isn’t it?

It’s not possible to determine how many ‘unique’ visits are in that number or, as I said earlier, if one person has visited Unremarkable Woman ten thousand times.  I can’t believe that all the bloggers haven’t banded together to demand a system that registers who and how many times someone reads the blog.  Maybe I’m the only person who’s actually curious about that……could be.

Everyone says we are communicating less in this day and age, but in truth I think we are all trying harder to communicate, with more people, than we ever have.   I have a zillion Facebook friends.  They’re people I’d never had contacted any other way, some I’d lost touch with over the years, and recent acquaintances, too.  I love being able to keep up with so many people, their families and their lives.  I talk to several people by text every day; being a person who loathes the telephone this is a wonderful way for me to touch base with them.  I actually feel more connected because of the electronic media, not less!

I will continue my blog as long as there is anything in me that I believe is remotely worth pouring out.  I will never know who all of you are, but somehow it still makes me happy to know that I have ever-so-slightly touched your lives.  

     Thank you for visiting and please feel free to share The Life and Times of an Unremarkable Woman…..whoever you are.

                                                                        Life is Good  

Things that go Bump in the Night

 

 

October has always been my favorite month of the year.  As a child the city always had a parade on my birthday (Oct. 30^th), which I thought was darned nice of them.  I remember going to the Halloween parade, my dad hoisting me up on his shoulders so I could see everything.  In those days they threw lots of candy and the long line of revelers seemed to snake through town forever!  Years later my Mom and Dad enjoyed taking their grandchildren to see the parade.  It was still a special event for me because while they took the three little ones to enjoy the spectacle, I could catch my breath and relax.   I still remember how much I appreciated having that two hour span of time to myself.

I grew up in a time before we had the world at our electronic finger tips.  With only three TV channels from which to choose the selection was small, but so were our expectations.  During the month of October you could always count on one of the stations to show scary movies!  In this day and age our kids expect gore and special effects and 3-D and surround sound to heighten their enjoyment.  I can’t imagine anything better than being stretched out on the floor in front of our old black and white TV, a bag of Jones Potato Chips, a tub of Lawson’s French Onion Dip and my BFF beside me.  We would giggle and gasp and watch Frankenstein or the Werewolf or Dracula far into the night.  If we were lucky the movie was hosted by Goulardi, or Big Chuck and Hoolihan; Cleveland TV and Mansfield potato chips were the highlights of my October.

Makeup techniques, innovative masks and special effects have developed to the point of delivering nauseating realism.  I can’t remember the last horror movie I saw, but I’m sure I sat with my face in my hands through most of the thing no matter what it was.   It’s funny, but I love to read ‘stab and slasher’ novels, but I simply don’t want to watch it on the big screen.  Sensory overload I suppose.

I know there is a new genre of television that has become very popular; vampires and zombies are now a year round occurrence.  I’ve never seen The Walking Dead, but I’m sure the special effects are amazing.  You can keep all that.   For me evil is best displayed in the scenes in the old black and white films where Dracula (Bella Lugosi) is advancing on the sleeping man/woman/child. (I vant to drink your blood….blaaaa!)  A light shines on the eyes of the walking dead man, giving him the most eerie and terrifying look imaginable.  That’s the point in the movie where I’d start looking around me to make sure the drapes were completely drawn and there was no strange mist seeping under the front door!  No remake has ever come close as far as I’m concerned.  Watching Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt mince their way through a later edition really didn’t do much for me.

Frankenstein’s Monster was another favorite.  Boris Karloff was the best, and the scene where he’s throwing flowers into the water with the little girl breaks my heart every single time I watch it.  Yes, Frankie speaks for the misunderstood monster in us all.

Werewolves were another thing to worry about in October.  Lon Chaney was just a big, unattractive man with stringy hair sporting an ill-fitting suit…but he was an amazing werewolf!    Of course we all knew it was just a movie…but even at this age I think a wolf call would send me scurrying back into the house if there was a full moon. 

 For a child of the fifties and sixties those old movies were deliciously frightening cinema.  Even though they were made in the 30’s, I still watch them today when I run across one as I’m flicking through the zillions of stations we now have available.

Maybe I enjoy those old flicks because I wish the bad guys were as easy to identify today as they were way back then.   We all knew not to trust the guy in the long black cape.   Today evil takes many forms…but none of them is as easy to spot as Frankenstein or as predictable as a full moon.  Dealing with today’s bad guys isn’t as easy as arming yourself with a wooden stake, a garlic necklace or a silver bullet.  When I was young we knew evil couldn’t triumph over a crucifix, couldn’t withstand the pain of being doused with holy water, and could not cross the threshold of a church.   We believed evil could be contained, it had boundaries.  As it turns out, that’s not really true.  More’s the pity.

 

                                                                            

Life is Good