What if??

I hop on the scale nearly every morning. The last few days, though, the number hasn’t made me happy. Sometimes it bums me out for a whole day after those few moments on that dirty lying scale even if it’s up only a pound or two. But today I had another thought. What if four months ago I’d weighed a hundred and way too much? Sort of like the prize tuna you might see on that reality show, Wicked Ways. “Yo, Alphonse, take a looka here. Some nice fat fillets on this baby, huh?” 

Suppose that’s what I’m thinking when I got on the scale today but when I see that same number - Holy Tuna – down ten pounds! Why, I’d be doing the Yippy Skippy dance all over the bathroom – trying hard, of course, to keep from knocking over the planter with my (still pretty wide) hips. I would be over the moon with joy if that were true. I think for the next few days I’m going to pretend I’m a tuna. A tinier one – the kind Alphonse would throw back.

On my way to drop off some book flyers this afternoon I saw a young boy walking in the rain. It occurred to me that I should stop and offer him a ride. I did that once. A boy had fallen off his bike and when I asked him if he needed a ride he looked at me like I was Charles Manson in drag or something. He sort of crawled backwards on the ground and croaked, "That's okay, my mom's coming."

But, as I was worrying about this kid in the rain I thought. .  . what if I did give him a ride and he turned out to be one of those shape-shifters you read about in trashy novels. Yeah, what if I let him in the back seat and halfway up the road he shifts into a snarly bad dude with muscles out the window and pointy devil teeth. He garrotes me from behind, grabs the wheel, and takes my limp carcass down to the creek plopping me in to sleep with the fishes. Who would make hubby dinner then, huh?

Turns out I passed that boy on the way back and he was a teen not a ten year old. He looked a little bit surly so I was okay with passing him by. He’ll probably tell his kids about the old lady in a silver Toyota who left him in the rain that day. I’m glad I’m not depriving him of a great olden day’s story. He doesn’t know how lucky he is.

This rainy weather makes my hair frizz. Badly. I always covet the straight shiny hair of other women I know. Neither rain nor snow nor dark of night ever makes them look like Chewbacca on steroids. But until the cooler fall weather comes I’m stuck with it.

But what if I didn’t have this thick curly hair and instead had to use that spray can stuff that covers thin spots? I’ve seen commercials for something like that lately. Geez, what if I had to go that route. Of course I’d buy the stuff by stealth. I’d hit the CVS real early in the morning with no makeup on and a ratty scarf over my balding head. I’d scurry back home and lock the bathroom door to apply it. Yes, I’d read the enclosure. Give me some credit here. 

Anyway, it would look great. Sure it would. And I’d completely ignore that little trickle down the back of my neck later at the glamorous barbeque given by Don Juan of the Stars. I’d assume anyone staring would be admiring my J.C. Penney lavender lurex ensemble. Just kidding. I don’t know Don. But you can imagine it, can’t you?

All these “what if’s” are kind of scary so I guess I’ll quit complaining about my extra few pounds and frizzy hair. That way maybe the next shape-shifter I encounter will nod and know I’m one of them.

I’ll shift back to sleek haired and skinny come fall. Oh, yes I will.  

Image: Aduldej                                                                       Free Digital Photos                                                        

Mishaps

The other day I was in my old recipe box looking for things that might suit for summertime eating. Some of them are on index cards, some quite old, some batter spattered and some in little plastic sleeves. I stopped, though, when I came to one for bean salad. On a yellowed card with a coffee ring on it and a piece torn out of one corner. Verna Belle’s recipe. And what a memory came flooding back.

In those days we lived just outside of Trenton, New Jersey and I was the mom of three, the youngest being still a babe in arms. As it happens a whole slew of us had moved to Jersey from various parts of the country when our husband’s company, Univac, relocated. Verna Belle was a new acquaintance and almost exactly twice my age. She and her husband had married late in life and one thing she and I had in common was that we’d both been born in Minnesota. It was so nice to know someone, at last, who didn’t laugh when I talked about using the “biffy.” Yup, that’s what the toilet is called in upstate Minnesota; sometimes abbreviated to the "biff."

Anyway, one drizzly morning Verna Belle asked if I’d like to take a trip to the Farmer’s Market near Princeton. The two older boys were in school and I told her, “Sure, sounds like fun.” Now, mind you, I was a real fashion diva in those days. Because it was chilly and damp I decided to tuck my long frizzy hair up under a bandana, a black and white one. It was in the time before I had contact lenses, so I sported a nifty little pair of Ben Franklins for clear vision. Remember those? John and Yoko would. I also had my gold colored macramé bag slung over my shoulder and my baby on my hip. So cool I could hardly stand myself. 

The market was under a huge canvas canopy and several people were milling around as we shopped. Did I mention it was chilly? We perused the fruits and veg and as the minutes wore on my nose began to run, just a little. Sniff. Sniff, sniff. Sniff, sniff, sniff. Okay this was getting a bit ridiculous. There’s only so many times you can try to suck that stuff back. So I rifled through my gold bag and found a tissue. I didn’t think I needed to do a big honking blow, just a tuck of the tissue end into the offending nostril, a nose tampon if you will. A little more readjusting of the kid, a delicate twist of the tissue and up it went.

Well, just then, at that exact moment, Verna Belle turned to me, thrust her hand out and said, “Feel my hand, I’m so cold.”

And here came my supreme moment of public humiliation. Did I pause a moment to think? No, I did not. Did I smile and finish the nose mop up? No I did not. Instead I let go of the tissue and felt her cold hand.  I was reluctant to touch her hand with my “moist” tissue in it and I couldn’t rudely ignore her plea for me to feel her hand. So I did the only thing a decent person could do, I let go and let the tissue hang. And that valiant tissue stayed put and dangled there for all the world to see. Did I recall seeing a commercial where the "stays put" aspect of these tissues was touted? Maybe. In any case, this one did and it fluttered out of my drippy nostril, right in front of the whole graduating class of Princeton there at the Farmer’s Market.

Geez.

Okay, the graduating class was NOT there, but boy, it sure felt like the world was observing this disgusting public display. In truth it lasted about ten seconds. I laughed and let go of Verna Belle’s cold hand, retrieved the tissue from my nose – real diva like – and began an intense scrutiny of a bin of tomatoes. I couldn’t bear to look around. So un-cool I could hardly stand myself.

Funny how finding an old recipe can trigger a memory, huh? Oh, and the bean salad – it’s really, really good.

The Three Duties of a Writer

You’re one of those prolific writers going at it hammer and tongs to forge pieces of writing for the world to embrace. Right? Me too. But as I’m going into my twelfth year as a wordsmith, I’ve come to a realization. Whether it’s a short story, an essay, an article or a book, each piece of writing does one (or more) of these three things:

1.      Entertain

2.      Inform

3.      Enlighten

And isn’t that what you want from what you read? Most successful writers are voracious readers and I count myself among them. From snatches of advertising while buzzing down the highway to huge tomes like David McCullough’s John Adams or Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings each fulfills for me one or more of the above mentioned duties. Superior pieces of writing will do all three. For instance, a novel that takes place in medieval times should keep you turning the pages (entertain), explore the peculiarities of the time period (inform) and lighten up some dark corner where suppositions and prejudices lie (enlighten). A book like this will let you know that the writer has imagination, patience for the research involved and a desire to inspire. But let’s break down our writing trinity a little.

Entertain

Entertain literally means to engage the attention of, so that time passes pleasantly. How that’s done is open to interpretation, but we often link the notion to humor. So If you like to write humor and are good at it you will always find a market. In tough times or easy, people love to laugh.

The current trend of crafting thrillers or scare-the-pant off the masses writing (think vampires and zombies) will also garner sales as will humorous essays. Here are a few markets that are looking for your entertaining pieces.

  

1.      Aurealis – Pays $20 – $60 http://www.aurealis.com.au/submissions.php

2.      The Last Page – Pays $1,000 for column http://www.smithsonianmag.com/contact-us/humour-guidelines.html

Inform

Ad copy, non-fiction, self help books, articles about money, writing, current events – write about these and the world is your oyster. And when you’ve researched and written your shining jewel consider one or more of these markets:

1.      Greater Good Magazine – Pays .25 per word http://greatergood.berkeley.edu/get_involved/write_for_us/

2.      Escapees – Pays up to $150 http://www.escapees.com/magazine/ArticleSubmissions.asp

Enlighten

Oh boy, is green writing ever popular! This is where your passion and purpose can pay off big time. Explore both sides of the wind energy issue or write up a detailed analysis discussing why pony pumps are a viable way of extracting oil in small areas. Pick a disaster, highlight one aspect and write a piece to help children understand it. Investigate some recent environmental mistakes like the removal of wolves in Yellowstone, how coal puts carbon into the air and the effects of the ban on DDT, which WHO now recommends using to combat malaria in third world countries. Then shoot for one or more of these markets.

1.      High Country News – Payment begins at $100 http://www.hcn.org/about/submissions

2.      E Magazine – Pays .30 per word http://www.emagazine.com/view/?1512http://www.emagazine.com/view/?1512

3.      Dawn Publications – For your excellent environmentally sound book http://www.dawnpub.com/submission-guidelines/

4.      History Magazine – Pays $55 per printed page  http://www.history-magazine.com/anotes.htmlhttp://www.history-magazine.com/anotes.html

It’s very true that writing to enlighten isn’t limited to subjects about the environment. That’s why I threw in History Magazine above. But every piece of writing you do must contain elements of the three main categories at the beginning of this article. Realizing this may cause you to scrutinize your last submission to big glossy magazine and wonder if you’ve done your job. I’ll bet you have, but if not there’s time to revise, recover and move on. Don’t waste any time in doing so.

I'd love to know if you sell (or have sold) to any of these markets and Bravo! for trying.

Image: Free Digital Photos

Friday Things

Think of all the little things you see every day. Like the dragon flies that soar over the garden fence and land on that rock behind you. One of the hundreds that had to be pulled from the ground and set somewhere out of the way so the cucumbers could grow. I love dragonflies. I wish I knew if they ate potato beetles because those suckers are making lace at a rapid rate on the new leaves of so many plants.

As I zipped around the house, cleaning, I had to shake some dirt out the front door. As I turned to go back into the house a snappy little blue car sped down the road. Top down, hair flying and something in the passenger seat. A big blow up Smurfette! Amazing. I looked a little harder and her face was purplish. Ewww. I wonder if Smurfy was purchased at a discount and just what was that young driver up to anyway. Huh.

I put some olive oil on the two huge Portobello mushrooms I wanted to have with my steak for supper. Hubby obligingly grilled them for me, but passed when I offered him one. Sorry, honey, you‘ve always known what a fungus lover I am. I did offer to share.

After supper we hopped into the car and took off for our first hike of the year at Lindenwald.  We had our cudgels – uh, walking sticks – and hiking shoes on and set our feet on the old familiar trail. Which was covered with cottonwood tree fluff. Some of it had gathered on the edges of the small puddles of water the recent rains have left and some of it bounced off our noses as we walked. Kinda fun. Then the wild phlox rose from the surrounding greenery all purple and white. Tall, reaching for the sun. Hard to find in this climax forest, but they do.

Under the towering trees, looking up at the fresh new leaves all lacy against the sky, I know why they call it spring green. So, so pretty. I know they'll darken, get dusty and turn orange and red as summer rolls into autumn, but I'm not going to think of that yet. I also spotted one hearty honeysuckle bush – the one in our yard has already dropped her fragrant buds, but this one still seemed at peak.

As we made our way up and down the soft rises and slippery declines my favorite little bird chirped away in the trees. Wish I could tell you what it is. Next we heard the gurgle of the meandering brook over which the Boy Scouts have built a short wooden bridge. Water doesn’t flow beneath it often and I stopped to listen right there on the boards. “Don’t you just love when you can hear it?” I asked Mr. Pathfinder. He just smiled.

Back home I finish sipping my root beer float and watch a fat robin enjoying her evening ritual in the birdbath. Splash - dash! Then a tiny bit of cottonwood fluff drifts by the window as the evening wears on and I wonder if tomorrow will be as hot and humid as today was.

Just some Friday things to share. Thanks for reading.
 

Where the heck is John Wayne?

Last night a terrible storm hit just north of us. Bad. Bad enough to take down tree limbs and knock out power. We were safe inside at the time and I was at the computer wondering if our power would kak out on us. It didn’t. But when I turned to look out the window the sky was the most peculiar color – yellow. Hmmm. Did I remember that tornado skies look like that or was I going all yellow brick road for a moment there? My mind began to spin as I considered . . . disasters.

What would we do, hubby and I, if we lost everything to a tornado, fire, hurricane or you name it? We’ve nipped the edges of great loss a couple of times. A few years ago it was a horrific ice storm that brought down some of the tree limbs from our ancient maples. I remember standing in the bedroom the following morning. As hubby sat in a chair next to the window pulling on his socks we heard a slow ominous craaaack! Then a whooosh. Then a thud! The limb speared through the porch roof about a foot from where he sat with only a window between him and sudden death. Well, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but scary to think what might have happened.

The carnage in our yard was astounding. People slowed down to take a look as they passed on the road in front of the house. Smaller limbs had come down, javelin-like, and stuck up out of the ground. Brush was everywhere. But you know what? We didn’t sit around whining about when the power would go back on (okay, maybe a little) or what programs we could tap into for help. Nope. My former Navy Seabee went to work. He got dressed, got the chain saw and got on with it. The old joke is that the Seabees arrive on the scene to get things ready for the Marines. Ha! And John Wayne did a pretty good job of showing exactly how that was done when he starred in The Fighting Seabees in 1944. So my guy did his John Wayne on that tree limb and when our son and grandson stopped by they pitched in, too. We have a video of it somewhere.

Okay, I did my part. I was on the insurance company before you could say Dorothy and Toto. The adjusters in the county were very busy that week. And so were the National Grid guys, and the Red Cross. But I wonder . . .

Have we lost the ability to get out there on our own and take care of business when calamity strikes? Do we have good examples of that “get outta my way, I’ll take care of this,” style that doesn’t sit and wait for help? Good grief. What did people do before “programs”? What did they do before the truck came down the road with relief? I think I know.

They hunkered down while the forces of nature assailed and then they assessed the damages. Next they got off their duffs and got busy. That little bit of John Wayne in all of them took the disaster by the horns, shook a fist at the sky, and moved forward. Helping neighbors, consoling each other, swapping stories and foodstuffs, plowing through the wreckage to recover what they could, and all the while thanking God for their lives.

I pulled away from the window and sighed. I know it’s not so simple to pick up the pieces sometimes. It’s called devastation for a reason. But all hope is never, ever lost. We’ve got to grab onto a better mindset than the one that allows us to sit and wait, grousing and complaining. We’ve got to shake our own fist at all that tries to crush us and fight like a Seabee and on occasion, when necessary. . .  pray like a lost soul.  

I'm pretty sure John Wayne would approve.

Image: Jennifer Ellison                                                      Free Digital Photos

For Writers

Keeping Your Pipeline Full

Not long ago I hit a high water mark in my writing career by receiving five payments for writing work in the space of a few days. It was quite delightful, but the result of lots of hard work, too. As in any business I invoice or sign contracts with the expectation of payment within a certain time frame. I routinely keep between fifteen and twenty pieces out to markets and as a result those five payments all happened to hit at once. And that’s because my pipeline is always full. That fullness results in a pretty steady flow of payments and is a model for every writer to follow. It also helps to keep a ratio of about 60/40 of submissions that pay on acceptance and those that pay on publication. I offer these tips.

1. The “evergreens” – Keep track of these and keep the rights to them. I have a whole backlog of once sold essays, kid’s crafts, poems and fillers that I re-visit regularly to see where I can make a second or even third sale. I know of at least one writer who sold a non-fiction piece five times garnering him over nine thousand dollars tallied out over several years. He hit it big on the “green.”
2. Quick Sales – We all have these. There are editors who have become fans of your work and will take a good percentage of what you write. You know what they want and with a little diligence you can keep your submissions fresh, timely and directed at the readers who probably like your style, too.
3. Branch out – Challenge yourself. Have you secretly penned a killer idea for a greeting card or written a witty limerick, but never did anything with them? Of course you were just fooling around or blowing off steam and probably nobody would want them. Right? Well, get over whatever’s messing up your thinking like that and find a market for them. You may think that if you can’t go full tilt in some area of writing that it’s never going to amount to much. But I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. I’ve sold dozens of poems and some greeting cards and the nice little checks that arrive as a result are great ego boosters. So what if it’s only bread and butter money – it spends.
4. Think Big – Several months ago I submitted an essay to an in-flight magazine that pays a dollar a word. Deep down I know my chances are slim for publication, but deeper down I’m proud of myself for getting that puppy out. I’ve flown this airline many times and I wrote to the eclectic mix of passengers I’ve observed and interacted with over the years. I think many of them will love the essay if only I can get the nod from the editor. Rumor has it that stories and article published in in-flights are real plums. Try starting at the top payers and work down. Might as well have a few fat ones in the pipeline and hope for the best. I’ve already got a second market in mind should that editor pass.

Never let a good piece of writing sit for long. Get it into your pipeline as soon as it’s polished. And I hope for you a five check week, too!

Image: Free Digital Photos

Porches

Last night we took a side street as we left the ball field. We were on our way to get ice cream, that honored summertime ritual, and as we moved slowly down the street I began to notice them. Porches. The one that triggered my imagination was small, the house was old, a two story affair probably built in the 40’s. A man sat in a high backed rocking chair while some family members milled around in the yard. Their front door was open and I could see the stairs leading to the upper level. A surpising private peek.

It was nice to see people outside after our long icky spring. It was nice to realize that people still sit on front porches of an evening. Very Norman Rockwell-esque. I smiled at the man who probably knew lots of cars would be leaving the ball field just then. Maybe he was porch sitting and looking forward to the “people parade.” He smiled back at me. 

The next few houses had no porch activity and the one after those had a very cluttered look. Front porch as extra storage area. Yup, understand that. I glanced around as we passed and noticed this home also had a back porch, stacked high with fire wood. Wow, that’ll be nice and dry when the cold weather is upon us again.

My favorite kind of porch is one that wraps halfway around the house. You know, the one where you can put your Aunt Tilly’s beautiful old white wicker set and serve lotus blossom tea in the afternoon. Your friends show up in flowered dresses and beribboned leghorn hats loaded with gossip in full anticipation of lively conversation and your best cookies. Scarlett O’Hara would approve.

Our front porch has been reduced by more than half thanks to an ice storm that came through a few winters ago. That’s a picture of it up there. We hired out to have it repaired and it’s small now, but pretty. I set a pot of flowers out there all summer and try to keep it swept. I suppose there’s room for one chair but since we live out of the back of the house that’s not likely to happen. Still, I like the way it sort of guards the front door.

I went shopping with a friend yesterday and she told me she bought new cushions for her porch furniture. She has a nice front porch and a covered area out back, too. People who live in Cape Cod style houses don’t have front porches. Ranch style houses built in the 50’s and 60’s sometimes have a small covered area at the entrance. Doesn’t really qualify as a porch, I’m thinking. City porches are called “stoops.” That’s where you sat when it was just too blamed hot to be inside. I’m sorry for people who don’t have porches.

But perhaps we could shoot for a porch mentality whether we have one or not. A place of quiet contemplation or a good chin wag with a neighbor. The very best place for watching the world go by or rocking a baby. The place to plop down rain boots and umbrellas and get out of the storm or where children can be out of the house but not too far away.

Yeah, anyplace like that would do. Don’t you think?

PS: Sam’s team won!!