05 Jan 2015 6 Comments
2015 looks fine so far, relatively speaking, but there is much to do as the year rolls by. Each of the eight points delineated by Neil is a rant aimed specifically at me — a kick in the shorts toward a more focused writing experience. So on January 5, 2016, remember to ask me how I feel!
Neil Gaiman’s 8 Good Writing Practices:
04 Dec 2014 6 Comments
Once upon a time, there lived a handsome young man of steel who told a little white lie about his age, joined the Army at seventeen, fought at the front during The War to End All Wars on many fields of battle, came home intact in mind and body, swept a lovely fifteen-year-old store clerk off her feet, married her straightaway, and started a dynasty. Thus reads the CliffsNotes version, you may thank me after the test.
But before that, a lot of other things happened.
And while those things were happening, the young man was growing steely because clearly he had good genes plus a step-father who was certifiably unhinged. When the lad in our tale was less than twelve years old, his step-dad took him to the barren plains of eastern Colorado to “prove up a claim” and homestead it, worked him like a dog, left him there and went home to Kansas. But not before taking a pot-shot at him off the porch that put a hole through his hat and knocked him flat in the hard Colorado dirt.
The boy lived out there in that little shack by himself, with the heat and the wind and the wildlife, until somebody came for him. Whatever steel he wasn’t born with must have crawled into his bones in those months, and it never left him. I know this because he was my grandfather and I know he never lost his metal, his discipline, or his looks. He and my grandmother raised six sons and three daughters, all worth knowing in their own right. Grandpa knew how to do everything and Grandma knew the rest, so there was always food on the table and a good roof on a house full of voices laughing, crying, arguing, singing, talking, yelling, but mostly laughing. Smart funny people, this dynasty.
It’s my favorite fairytale to slip into on cold gray days because it’s all true. And a thing to love is that with everything Grandpa survived in his years, he never got smelly and mean-spirited and old on the inside. He and my grandmother both figured out how to stay alive and BE alive and how to pass that on. Pretty cool.
03 Nov 2014 2 Comments
Poor Monday gets a bad rap, the short end of the stick, it’s the redheaded stepchild of the week, g’head, throw your own bad cliché into the pot. Monday is my official day to uncensor myself and vent, so you’re lucky I have very little to bitch about in any direction. By this point I have only a smattering of self-censorship left, so if I were to toss my last remaining constraints a whole lotta people who thought they knew me would be bailing out of this clown car. But riddle me this, don’t we all tend to be colossal stacks of filters from womb to tomb? And if you, personally, have managed to shed a few layers along the way, does that not feel amazing?
Why does it take so agonizingly long for some of us to realize that we can’t love ourselves if we’re busy keeping everybody else happy? Why so long to know that our opinions, thought processes, and convictions are as legitimate as anybody else’s, and far saner than many most? Why are we so … human? As you no doubt picked up on, BECAUSE YOU ROCK, those are rhetorical questions and you are in no way obligated to send me the answers.
So on this chilly November Sunday (yes indeed, overachievers do today’s homework yesterday) while I track a friend who’s running the NYC Marathon, I’m thinking about relationships. As a Social Introvert on the chart, my relationships center, in time spent, around people on Facebook and WordPress and the two forums overlap greatly. My core group of out-there-in-the-greater-world friends are almost all part of the Facebook zoo as well … so as Zucky might want us to say, “It gets complicated.”
I write about Facebook once in a while because it’s such a funny animal. Age and lifestyle differences notwithstanding, my experience with it seems to be basically the same as everyone else’s — we’re all looking for community, a spot to fit in, people to talk to and listen to, a place to say things so we can figure out what we really think, share funny stuff, and brag about pets, kids, grandkids, fairytale weddings, and vacations. However, there are some obvious differences attached to the experience: If you’re in it to troll, ridicule, hate on people, do harm to animals, men, women, children, or anything else that lives and breathes, including Mother Earth, or expose your (clearly amazing) body to the universe … then you and I occupy different worlds, thank god (except I’d take the body).
As with everything else, my personal Facebook and WordPress guidelines are simple:
1.) Since it’s my life/page/blog, I say/post/read/write/share whatever speaks to my spirit.
2.) I will never knowingly or purposely say/post/write/or share anything that would wound or humiliate someone.
3.) If you disagree with or are offended by anything I say/post/write/or share, then I encourage you to take full ownership of your newsfeed or reader and opt to keep scrolling on down the Facebook/WordPress Road. My brain flies in all directions at once and my tastes are ludicrously eclectic, so I’ll eventually get around to either pleasing or offending you and all the rest of my friends, possibly in a single post. Or you could talk with me and I promise to talk with you back, not AT you.
4.) If you’re family, going out as far as that extends … in-laws, outlaws, exes, cousins repeatedly removed … I will likely never unfriend you. However, if you’re rude I probably won’t choose to get into a discussion with you again either. Most of you in my gene pool are of the opposite political persuasion so I’m fully aware I can be a trial, but you’ve been pretty patient so far and it’s a matter of honor with me to be fair, to vet what I post, and to stay true to where I am on any given issue. You also know by now that I consider politics to be some of the most important stuff we can think and talk about since that’s what determines the kind of world we live in, so if you have to hide me, so be it, there are lots of other people here who share my passion.
5.) If you send me a friends request but never once say hey or talk to me or acknowledge that I’ve dropped in on you, my bullshit detector goes off and I start thinking about sending you to the cornfield.* So let me make this easy for you:
a.) Yes, I’m still married to that guy you probably didn’t trust, we celebrated ten years this past summer, and we’re still disgustingly stupid over each other.
b.) Yes, I’ve gained a few pounds, let my hair go silver, moved to a liberal outpost, and started living. And that’s okay.
c.) No, I don’t know why you’re here either, so we’ll probably be saying goodbye soon. I ain’t mad, bro, it just isn’t gonna work out between you and me. Really, it’s not me, it’s you, no hard feelings.
*Fellow introverts are exempt, of course. I know where you’re not coming from, and why.
To all who’ve been part of an adventure I’ve ended up living publicly on Facebook and WordPress, all the friends who were already in, have bought in, and/or hung in … thank you. You’re a big part of where life’s going — I have tremendous role models among you and find myself incorporating bits and pieces of your personalities, writing styles, mindsets, fashion revelations, food loves, humor, and more. I’m pretty sure Kim and I didn’t win Saturday night’s lottery, again … but how much could it matter in light of wealth like the above? Tomorrow the mid-terms will finally be over and we’ll know where we’re headed. And hey look! I still have genuine friends at this point, what a gift.
18 Sep 2014 12 Comments
in My Thoughts, Photos Tags: be real, beauty, family, inspiration, life, living, memories, Photos, relationships
My grandparents’ generation witnessed greater social and technological changes than any that preceded it, and possibly any that will follow. When they were born, in the late 1800s, cars weren’t a thing yet — everything was done with horses. Before the end of their lives, they’d seen the advent of space exploration and watched NASA put a man on the moon.
My grandparents who were farmers remained true to their conservative roots, lived frugally, and made a point of being satisfied with what they had. Their motto was “Wear it out, fix it up, make it do.” They clung to what they knew best, jettisoning very little along the way. Living next door to them I benefitted from a natural immersion in their history, and the pioneer spirit is my friend.
My outlook is aligned with the liberal views of my grandparents who lived in town, but I’ve never lost my appreciation for what it took to settle the heartland and survive. Recently I was breezing through my Facebook news feed, did a double-take, and backed up. A childhood friend had posted this photo of my Great-uncle Otto’s blacksmith shop, which is falling into ruin, and my growing-up years came flooding back.
My sisters and brother and I and our friends spent lots of hours here, climbing on outbuildings and an array of obstacles, snooping around the shop and the house that used to stand next to it, shinnying up the windmill tower, and roller skating in the old brick schoolhouse down the road on property owned by our family. There were irrigation ditches in this field, too, good for wading in the icy water and slinging mud.
My great-uncle lived in a corner of his shop after his mother died and a fire spooked him out of the house. He had an outhouse, an iron cot, a potbelly stove for heat and cooking, and that’s about it in the way of creature comforts. He and my grandpa, his brother, were gunsmiths and inventors who understood hard work better than anything else. I grew up surrounded by guns, which at the time were exclusively for hunting and for building prized collections. My bachelor great-uncle, one generation removed from the German ship that delivered the Wagner family to the Promised Land, was eccentric and brilliant and reeked of the garlic he ingested at every meal to ward off disease. As children, we were endlessly fascinated by him — he was a mystery we couldn’t crack.
People from all over the country sent him guns to repair and refurbish, and he had several patents to his name. He saved every can label and filled the backs with calculations scrawled with a dull carpenter’s pencil. He had Big Chief tablets filled with the same, along with drawings of inventions, and poems and essays on life, religion, and human dynamics. He was a fixture of my childhood — a skinny man with a handlebar mustache who wore long underwear and a sheepskin jacket year ’round, and drove his Model T Ford the quarter-mile to my grandparents’ house every day to hold forth about ideas and mathematics and projects from his comfy nest in the kitchen rocker. My grandma, who’d long ago earned his trust by listening, cajoled him into taking a bath at their house twice a year while she washed his well-oiled clothes.
One look at this photograph and I was back in my grandparents’ warm kitchen, Uncle Otto’s gravelly voice droning on, garlic and gun oil mixing with the aroma of fried potatoes, beef and gravy, and coffee, Grandpa stamping in from the cold, the sound of my grandma’s wry chuckle, and the sense that life would go on forever just that way.
Although nostalgia is in my bones, and it all looks so simple and clean from this vantage point, I don’t want to live there. I started to become an adult the day I accepted the truth that life is all about change. But a gray wet fall day seems like a sweet time to revisit the past, and I’m indebted to my friend Carrol for the photo.
28 May 2014 2 Comments
in Photos, Quotations Tags: be real, beauty, brave, celebrations, inspiration, learning, life, living, memories
27 May 2014 Leave a comment
in Graphics that Grab Me, My Thoughts Tags: be real, beauty, brave, challenges, happy stuff, inspiration, learning, life, living, loving, relationships
We’ve recently changed up our exercise routine because Kim needs to rest his ankle and shoulder, so he’s off the racquetball court and I’m out of Aqua Zumba for now. Instead we’re swimming laps in the early mornings. Our spring/summer schedule filled up when we weren’t paying attention, so the earlier start every day has been a good thing, and Kim’s owies are starting to like the new regimen.
One of my last class sessions was something I’m glad I didn’t miss — you can’t prepare for serendipities, you just have to be lucky enough to notice all the little nudges that take you through your days in style.
Okay, I need to tell you that when John was just out of college and starting his first career, he got involved with an organization that provided a social life for developmentally-challenged young adults. His stories were funny and endearing, and it was clear right away that he had a gift for what he was doing. He eventually went on to exchange his design career for one as an oncology RN, and he’s not only really good at that, his tenderness for his first clients has stayed with me.
So there was a morning a while back when I’d almost skipped Zumba class … again. But hey, I showed up. I was in the water warming up when the door opened and a young guy with killer abs walked in, followed by several men of mostly indeterminate age and clearly working under challenges of various sorts. Nice Ab Guy asked if this was Zumba class and I said yes. He asked the instructor if it would be okay for them to work out with us and she said of course! So he helped the other guys tighten their waistband drawstrings, finessed ear and nose plugs, and coaxed them into the shallow end of the pool. They were none too sure about the whole thing, but their shy smiles were to die for. The eldest had scars over his back and arms that looked like severe burn damage and I prayed that some inferior human creature hadn’t hurt him on purpose.
The music cranked up, loud as always, and the new guys, with encouragement from a dozen or more mamas, got into it. Ab Man was born to dance, and obviously to help people who need him. The sweet guy with the burn scars was so sincere and earnest about trying to keep up with the moves, I had to put my face in the water to camo the tears. One young guy spent his time looking around, blowing bubbles, and making the water splash big. He may have had the best time of anyone. Every glance at one of us asked “Is this okay? Can I do this?” When class ended we all told them to be sure and come back, but that didn’t happen before I dropped out. I hope they remember their time with us as one of the really good days.
I’m lazy and whiny and it’s almost second nature for me to pick the easy way if there is one. Those guys’ lives are hard in ways I’ll never experience, but they keep going and they’re as stoic as anyone I’ve ever seen. I hope the people they encounter will be unfailingly kind to them and that even though they’ve been burned by life they’ll never lose those shy sweet smiles and their willingness to be and do and keep on giving. I have no right to even ask that … but there’s so much they can teach the rest of us and we need them.
25 May 2014 3 Comments
in Holidays, My Thoughts, Photos Tags: brave, family, holidays, inspiration, life, love, memories, Photos, relationships
A Memorial Day tribute.
Robert Latta, US Army Infantry, S. Viet Nam. My husband for 34 years and John Latta‘s dad.
Kim Smith, US Navy, USS Somers (destroyer), coast of N. Viet Nam. My husband of 10 years and happily counting, and John Latta’s stepdad and friend.
24 May 2014 5 Comments
in My Thoughts, Photos Tags: brave, celebrations, family, holidays, inspiration, life, memories, military men, Photos
My grandpa enlisted in the Army at the age of 17 and served at the front during WWI. His six sons were all military men, Army, Navy, or Marines. The three Marines, 18, 19, and 21 were in the Korean Conflict at the same time, in the same general location, and under miserable conditions. All seven returned home intact in body and went on to raise families of their own. Many of my cousins have also served with honor in the military and none have been lost to war — cause for much thankfulness as we remember all those who have been.
09 Feb 2014 2 Comments
Watching this year’s Winter Olympics has been a unique experience for me. It fully dawned this time that rather than a contest among nations, it’s hundreds of contests between worthy opponents who have spent most of their lives preparing for the moments in which we see them. Geographically speaking, the point is not which country won which medals, but which athletes earned the title of Best. I find that I see so much more if my eyes aren’t trained solely on the American athlete in the race. It’s very moving to see how each entrant has trained his or her body — every muscle, joint, and cell — to do the chosen feat. It’s poetry. And when the color and design of a flag take a back seat to individual effort, the games emerge as what they are: an incredible sampling of humanity, a dazzling parade of young faces, bodies, and spirits — people who will never again be quite this young and beautiful and perfect, but are just wise and reckless enough to squeeze the life out of Life as they streak past. God bless the world.
21 Nov 2013 4 Comments
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