writing

sell by date

Featured by tresswann

Most of my life I’ve been obsessed with the obituaries. Children have a natural fascination with death and gore. The first headline I remember reading was about Marilyn Monroe’s death. Well, it was easy. I guessed from the size of the words. I liked reading the obituaries because they were little stories. I have always liked stories. After a while, I stopped reading them. There were better stories to read and it was slightly morbid.

I started reading them again in late middle age. This was because I had to see who among my friends parents had passed away.

I stopped reading that because it was easier to find information on Facebook.

Now, I view the ages of people who have died when I read the news. I calculate how much older or younger they are than me. Are they my age? Maybe they are five years older or eight years older. If they die at 93, it means they are 25 years older. That is such a long time, but it is such a short time.

It’s like life. There are very few transitions. At one time, I went from attending my friends’ weddings to attending their children’s weddings. There was no break in between. The obituaries have become that way. It is not so much the obituaries as Facebook. It seems that every week someone from my childhood dies. These are usually not my friends. My friends have not had a timeline. They have been leaving since my 20s. It has been a joke that men who date me and leave me die. Just about all my past relationships are literally dead. It no longer upsets me. It’s just a fact.

I was brought up not to disclose my age in public. I have been very lucky in that for the most part I do not look my age. I don’t believe that is true anymore, but people assure me that they are surprised at how old I am. My mother always pretended to be 10 years younger than she really was and she always got away with it. One of her friends was shocked to find out when my mother passed that she was the same age as her mother, exactly. They were literally born on the same day. The age numbers never bothered me because I did have that genetic gift. However, even though I must say that I looked fantastic at 60, it felt off putting somehow. 65 was a game changer. I moved into the last checkbox the demographic selection. I began to feel that time was finite.

I was at a school reunion about 20 years ago. One of my classmates said, “We’d better make the best of it. We are in the last third of our life.” I wasn’t buying it. I felt young and vital. Indeed, I was. I laughed at his statement at the time but once I passed the last milestone birthday, it became very real to me. Time had finally become finite. There was going to be an end to the chapter. And as I had discovered when I was 18, I was not going to know what it was.

There is a group for women over 50. In one of their promotional videos, there is a woman who wants to stay “juicy”. I was definitely juicy at 50. I was anxious to join that group. I went to a local organizing meeting and they tried turning me away at the door. “Honey, this group is for women over 50.” It reminded me of the time that a boyfriend and I went with the gay couple to a gay bar. Another hand came in between us, “This is a gay bar, kids.”   

Recently, I heard on my radio station that the average life expectancy in the US right now is 77.9 years. Time is finite. I now have a sell by date. It’s not the expiration date. We have been educated that the sell by date really means “best used by”. The same can even be said for the expiration date. These dates have become very real for me. The clock is ticking.

My mother came from a family that had “gifts”. She wanted no part of that. Fortune telling and future telling were strongly looked down on. She always related the story of someone having her palm read and being told that they could not find the future line and walking out and being killed immediately by a bus. She believed that one did not need to know about the future. It makes sense. Every day should be lived as if it is your last. This is easier said than done. None of us can know when our time is over. Just because statistics say I only have another nine years means nothing.

What I am going to do with those remaining years is important. For quite some time, I have been considering the best use of my time every day. This now has taken on a greater urgency. My friends and I laugh that time is moving so quickly. One week starts before it seems the previous one has ended. Days blur. Remember when you were a child and it seemed like forever until Christmas? Or your birthday? I heard something recently that said time moves slower when you were younger because you were learning something every day. I still try to learn something every day and sometimes I actually do. However, it does not stop the gallop of time.

I feel an enormous amount of pressure now to make the best use of my time. It is interesting to consider what that might be. I have been writing for years. I had a manager 20 years ago who told me I never complete anything. I’ve always tried to be open to criticisms from managers from whom I am parting. For example, my first manager in fashion told me I was not proactive enough. I did not make that mistake again. However, I have to concede that I do not finish things. I’ve been thinking about the reasons why this might be. My father was a writer and very critical of me but he has been gone for 20 years. Plus, in his last year of life, he told me not to wait until he died to write but to do it now. I did not follow his advice. I am writing now. I am still not finishing. This is something I must do. I have always maintained that fear is natural and must be acknowledged. Fear should not stop you. I have been afraid in my life many times and just sucked it up and got on with it. However, submitting my writing for publication totally terrifies me in a way that I am not familiar. I need to get this done. My grandmother always said that I lived on “put off street”. I need to move!

There are other considerations as well. I love to read. I have been reading less in later years. It is something that soothes me. I used to read several books a week. This year, it looks like it will be only one a week. I have more time than when I was working So what is the problem? How do I find the time for my preferred drug?

Working. I have finally decided not to look for employment. This has been a very difficult decision. It has been based more on my physical condition than attitude and need. Now that I have my sell by date, it definitely falls to the bottom of the pile. I feel a certain amount of grace because my time is limited. This does not mean that I will not work for money again. If I do work again for money, it will be something that comes to me not something that I seek. Who knows? I may even sell a story or two.

Move is a word that’s problematic for me. I have become increasingly immobile. This has also led me to the decision to just stop actively looking for work. My body is betraying me. I thought for the most part I had treated it well. OK, I have had a massive chocolate addiction. I have been able to get it somewhat in check in the last decade or so. I was not pleasingly plump for a while. This usually happened when I was unhappy. I have had periods of unhappiness throughout my life. Plus, it was a delayed adolescent rebellion. Weight was always important to my parents because my aunts were morbidly obese and my mother was manic about her weight and appearance. However, only four short years ago when I was examined by a Medicare physician, I was told that I was one of the healthiest Americans he had encountered. I exercised more or less faithfully for most of my life. If I didn’t belong to a gym, I did an enormous amount of walking. Walking has always been my happy place. I no longer have that. My condition is impacting all areas of my life. I can no longer type, cook or walk. We all know that age will catch up to us eventually. My mother exercised regularly until just after her 79th birthday. Her deterioration was sudden and unexpected. She had definitely done everything right. However, we all realize, even she did, that as we age certain things slow. I am not slowed so much has come to a grinding halt. I do my best not to let it stop me. Of course, it does. What cannot be cured must be endured.

I wish someone would have let me know that I would not always be able to feel my body moving quickly. That one day I would no longer be able to feel the wet sand on my bare feet as I walked along the water’s edge. It’s funny how lust changes along the way. I used to lust over men, clothing and money. Now, I lust after shoes. I see people on TV or in the street and I want their shoes! I watch programs with beautiful stairways and I mourn. No one would have been able to tell me that when I was younger.

Clothing is another thing that changed for me as I got older. I used to be very forward. I had my pulse on something. It was undefined but I usually was a step ahead. Then I became a sort of contemporary classic. My mother had told me that I would grow into things. So, I began to rock Chanel type jackets, Calvin Klein pantsuits, beautiful suits in jeweled colors. Elastic waisted pants were for old fat people or going to the gym. Now, the least path of resistance is elastic. I do not like what I wear. I am succumbing to old age.

Another thing I was brought up to do was to give back. I still do that. I tutor a child. This gives me great joy. It is a gift to help a child be able to read and thus discover new worlds and new possibilities. I will not give this up. It is worth the time. I also volunteer. Right now, I am on my HOA board. It almost amuses me because I bring my experience to the table. I am seen as an older person with experience. It seems like only the other day that I was the firebrand on the board demanding change. Again, there was no transition. Perhaps this is the way life is.

I am actually comforted by the idea of a sell by date. It gives my life a shape. One of the things I had decided some months back, was to try and do something nice each day for someone else. It is selfish. I have no natural children. I do have “bonus” children. I have little cousins and nieces by marriage. These are the closest I have come to children. The reason I bring this up is that I’m concerned about the afterlife. I am part Jewish and to paraphrase one of the prayers for the dead, “you live on in memory of what you have done.” It’s not completely rational but I would like my memory to live on for another generation. I do not know how to explain this. I want my time on this earth to have meant something.

I am looking forward to embracing my remaining years. There is so much to do!

Uncommon Women and Others and Being Amazing

Posted on by tresswann

The first time I saw Uncommon Women and Others, I was completely electrified.  I saw it on PBS, shortly after I graduated college and just a few years after it had been written.  I watched it upstairs at my parents in what we called the office on their black and white TV.  We were always behind the times that way. It shocks me now to see old programs in color when  I have vivid recollections of them in black and white.  Uncommon Women resonated with me for several reasons.  Even though it was set at a Seven Sisters school and I went to a sub Ivy, I recognized that type of young woman.  There were lots at Goucher and some even at Hopkins where I attended.  In the play, the women are looking back at their lives from the vantage point of 30.  They had promised when they were 30, they were going to be amazing.  I was still in my 20’s and living with my parents.  I needed to believe that thirty could and would be amazing.

Watch this play and you will see early performances by Meryl Streep, Jill Eikenberry and Swoosie Kurtz.  Amazing.  It also confirmed my longing for strong, female friendships.  I had gone to what was essentially an all boys school.  I had rebelled against my mother who saw me at Vassar or Radcliffe.  I did want Bennington but she vetoed that because – shock- a women’s college with a woman president!  In many ways, she was a product of her era.

I did develop those strong female friendships along the way.  I am still in contact with my college roommate over 40 years later.  I have reconnected with some of the girls of my youth.  I have other women I have picked up along the way that have given me an incredible safety net, strength, support and love.  But sitting watching that black and white TV, I knew none of that.

I remember thinking as I watched that I wish there was a way to keep this, like a book, so I could take it out and look at it whenever I wanted.  A few years passed.  It came back on PBS.  By then, I was over 30 with a color television of my own and a VCR to record it.  The world was moving.  I wasn’t amazing but I was doing alright.  I was making crap money; had a glamorous job; and was not working up to my potential.  I was, however, known as a person with friends.  I had a therapist at that time who told me I defined myself as a friend.  I did not think it was a bad thing.

 

I, like the women in the play, began to believe at 40, I would be amazing.  Forty came and went and I was so not amazing.  I no longer had the glamorous job and was back with my parents.  Volunteering saved me.  I was lucky to have a volunteer position that involved raising money to support and advance women’s rights.  New York, my state, was never ever going to be able to compete against California.  There is just too much money there.  However, Uncommon Women and Others continued to resonate with me.  I used it in my stump speech all the time.  I believed that as a state, we could raise our fundraising and be amazing.  We, as women, could and would be amazing. Was this uncommon?

 

Time advanced.  I was ecstatic to discover Uncommon Women and Others on DVD.  I bought a handful and gave them to my important women friends one Christmas.  Technology was amazing.

 

Wendy Wasserstein wrote other, wonderful powerful plays about women.  I have been blessed to be able to see them.  These plays grew along with me. Women of a certain age will relate to The Heidi Chronicles. She became an iconic voice for women. Wendy Wasserstein was truly amazing and she died.

I passed 50 and was still waiting to be amazing, then 60.  I still aspire to be amazing.  As the years have passed, my concept of amazing has changed.  In my 20’s, I wanted the job, the car, the man, the friends.  It didn’t change much for my 30’s.  I did have all of that but somehow it wasn’t amazing enough.  My 40’s found me rebuilding – a broken marriage,  broken relationships, a different career, better friends and moments to be amazing.  I am very proud of the work I did for that organization and hoped I have helped other women find their “amazing”. 50’s – almost there.  I had created a sort of life that became blown up by disease.  I fought and continue to fight.  60? Still standing and literally that is remarkable and amazing.  I was filled with more fortitude than I thought possible.

 

Amazing changes through time and space.  Can I say now when I reach 70, I am going to be amazing?  Seventy sounds like a foreign country, unexplored and unimagined but closer.  I thought when I graduated college that I would go for my PhD in my 60’s.  Well, that ship sailed.  I still have the curiosity and the interest.  However, time and money have become finite.  I consider myself amazing sometimes because I have been able to find and hold uncommon women and “others” in my life.  I never could have imagined that or its importance when I first experienced the play. Sometimes, when I consider what life has thrown at me, I may be amazing.  I still keep on trying.  I try to walk.  I miss the feeling of speed and air when I am walking.  Sometimes, I miss working yet still I tick on. What makes us uncommon women and what makes us amazing?  I consider my uncommon women friends amazing.  Each in her own way is unique yet the same.  They are intelligent, curious, courageous, inspiring.  They lead.  They share.  They never stop changing.  They are principled.  They have style and substance whether they acknowledge it or not. I have fulfilled one of my wishes from when I first saw “Uncommon Women and Others”, I have those close female friends for decades, uncommon women each and everyone of them, and that is AMAZING!

Convergence, Synergy, Serendipity

Posted on by tresswann

I have been out of work for four months.  What a strange phrase to use.  Let’s rephrase:  I have not been paid or going to an employer for four months.  Work is continual and takes different forms.

I was/am beginning to feel a little despair, desperation.

I have always believed things happen for a reason.

I also have wanted to take this time to clear up around the house.  I had let everything go when  I had a job.  Plus, I have hoarding tendencies.  I literally took everything off the top of my desk.   I found a little pamphlet that a friend gave me about 25 years ago.  I did warn you.  The pamphlet was an abridged “The Power of Positive Thinking”.  My parents had the book.  I can picture it in the bookcase at the top of the stairs.  As they aged, they moved things and got rid of things.  I don’t know that is a book I ever would have kept.  I never cracked its spine when I was growing up.  But now, I found this little pamphlet and threw it in my bag when I was going into NYC for an interview.  I started to read it.  Last time I was without work and my first marriage was breaking up and I was probably clinically depressed, my mother typed up a prayer for me.  It helped enormously.  There it was in the pamphlet!  A good sign.  The pamphlet was making sense to me.  I do have a deep faith sometimes.  Sometimes, as is natural, it wavers.  I also read and am a huge fan of Julia Cameron – Good Orderly Direction.  There you go and I am off to the races.

Next event:  I am in the car and hear the beginning of an interview with Marlon James, the first Jamaican to win the Booker prize.  I am half Jamaican and read Caribbean literature at uni.  I dabble in it from time to time but had stopped.  So I decide to get the book from the library.  Of course, I don’t remember its name.  When I do the library search, other West Indian novelists show up.  I order some Colin Chaner.

I was a student of Earl Lovelace’s years ago.  I had no idea who he was until 10 years or so, maybe even closer, a friend of mine mentioned him.  I immediately read him and adored it.  His writing was never mentioned or touted at school.  He only taught for a year.   I just found out that a book of his came out to serious acclaim a year after I studied with him.  No one said anything at school.  In retrospect, I wonder.  Was it racial?  Or was it “intellectual”?  This was a department that touted Coover and McElroy.  I decide let me read some more Lovelace.  Another library search.  Ha, there is a book on Lovelace and Caribbean literature on Goodreads.  The library doesn’t have it.  I go to Amazon.  Well, I am not working so I can’t buy it but I will.  I read the blurb and information on the author.  I call my friend and tell her I should have written that book.  I could have written that.

Onto next topic.  Since I have been at home, I have realized that somewhere along the line, I stepped off my life.  I had older women friends that believed I could and would run a major US corporation!  That had not been my interest for years.  When I was much younger, I had had three major ambitions.  First, right out of high school, I wanted to be the next Henry Kissinger.  Then, I wanted to be the next Calvin Klein.  I had a therapist point out that I wanted to be men.  It never crossed my mind.  It was the position, not the gender.  Last, I wanted to be either president of Macy’s or Saks.  I am not aggressive enough and lost that dream.  Still corporately, I was chasing that vice presidency.  I started the job that just ended,  in 2000.  I knew I wasn’t going to stay there.  Ha!  I was there 15 years.  I stopped and stepped off.  I can’t figure out the complete why.  Yes, my parents died. My father’s death left me responsible for my mother.  She had dementia.  I severed relations with my brother.  I married.  He’s an alcoholic but presently in recovery.  That was pure, utter living hell. And I developed this condition.  Ok, I guess putting it down on paper, it’s enough to derail most people.  But like my mother used to say, “Is your name everyone else?”

Next, there’s an annual short story competition that I have submitted to in the past.  Three years ago, the topic was complicated families.  I was excited and drafted an outline of related stories.  I had a central piece firmly in mind.  Work intervened and I put it aside.

Full disclosure:  my father was a writer.  I was always intimidated to write in front of him as it were.  He was very critical.  When he was older I used to take him to the Edgars, the mystery writing Oscars.  It was always filled with “auteurs”.  People always questioned me on what I was writing, shop talk.  At the last one we attended the year he died, we spoke about it.  He knew I wrote at home and wanted to know what was going on.  I told him that I really didn’t think I was going to do anything till he was gone.  He told me to write and write now.  It was the greatest gift he gave me.  However, he died a few months later and it sort of sucked everything out of me.

So, I am home, not going into work and I am going to finish this complicated family 750 word story and I can’t.  I am blocked.  I do not like the way I am writing.  I call my friend and she suggests I write around it.  I am cleaning and praying (due to the Power of Positive thinking).

Next, a friend from high school is also clearing and comes across her journals where my name is mentioned.  I tell her you must be in mine, too.  I pull them out but can’t touch them.  Two weeks ago or so, I am writing in my current journal and my husband questions me about the whole concept. I pull one of the high school ones off the night table.  An unfinished letter to this very woman falls out.  Queue the Twilight Zone music.  I start flipping through this decades old book.  I find writing that is excellent and then realize it was mine!  Talk about squandering gifts.  It is disturbing to me.

Next:  Plan B.  As I was doing this clear out, I came across folders stuffed with my old writing.  I decide I will type or retype this material.  This will put it in a more stable format than yellowing, crumpled sheets and may rekindle writing. Now, over the past few years, I have  been talking to my friend about the great Carib- American novel and we have also discussed themes of the immigrant experience, what you take, what you leave, what you bring back.  Yesterday, I reach into the drawer to start my project .  I am stunned.  It is the “great Caribbean-American” novel, outlined and with some pages!  The ideas are outlined in some detail.    I have no recollection of starting this. I don’t remember writing this at all.  It is decades ago.  It’s not bad, in fact parts of it are good!

The universe has sent me a clear message. It’s time to write.

Evaluating, Instincts and Perspective

Posted on by tresswann

It’s been a hard few months for me.  Particularly, the last few weeks.  I very rarely admit it but I have a streak of a workaholic in me.  Years ago, one of my friends told me I was the same as her except I did the extra work at home in the bathtub and in my bunny slippers.  My assistant used to go “Grrr, I see you wrote this in the bath again.”  That situation ended badly.  I was in that job for nearly 9 years.  I increased their business.  I literally made myself physically ill and as I have mentioned the roots of my present condition lie there.  I went to Asia on business when I could barely talk or breathe.  Forget experiencing Asian cuisine in Asia; every place I went they poured soup and tea down my throat.  Here’s what I did:  I left Taiwan at 11 o’clock in the morning, landed in LA 11 a.m. the same morning and worked till 11 p.m.  The men always stopped in Hawaii with their wives.  I  flew home to NY and collapsed in JC Penney.  Several years later I was let go from that company.  It was awful.  I had invested too much of myself.  I was left without myself.  I was severely depressed.  I got married.  Yes, I know.  And that made everything so much worse.  I was unemployed or under employed for 10 years and then I got this job.  Financially, I was back.  The first four years as an employee were great.  I left it at the office.  I worked late once or twice.  There was a downsizing and I was let go.  I said “Thank you.  Summer on the beach with shells in my hair.”  My condition manifested itself for the first time that summer and we put it down to stress and lack of activity.  Working, I walked miles a day, literally.

Cut to the present:  My life has been out of control and out of balance.  I went back as a part time consultant.  It was never really part time.  I joke the reason I was approved for my mortgage working part time was a major project went live the month they looked at my financials and I was doing over 40 hours a week.  Well, once I went back full time I started at around 37.5 a week.  I told my manager when I started back that  I knew hw he was and it would be more.  He swore to me I could be out the door by 4:30.  Well, that lasted a few weeks when I was told they needed more time.  Our agreement was that I could do it at home.  For years, I have done nights and weekends. 2007 – 2008 averaging 50 hours a week.  Note the word average.  Once this condition began to impact me I worked more and more from the house.   I work in an IT department so it’s relatively technologically advanced.  I laugh as every other Friday from home I am in a meeting with New York, New Jersey, London and Ireland.  This year even though I worked from the house I have been averaging closer to 45 hours a week with a lot of weeks 50 – 60.  Yes,   I do bill by the hour.

Recently, the two people I have always worked with except for a hellish 6 months were reorganized out of my area.  First hint – no one knew what to do with me and I heard unofficially I was going back to Hell.

In the interim, the group head starting signing my time sheets August 1.  I worked 48 hours one week to deliver a major project.  She said it was over time.  I said you owe me a lot of money then.  Upshot, not allowed to do more than 40.  Okay, I can live with that.

I work remotely on Friday and have done so for a few years or very, very short Fridays in the office.  It  is too dangerous for me to commute with the weekenders and I do have fatigue.  I have a doctor’s note.  I usually work longer on a Friday as I don’t have to commute.  The doctor wrote me a letter not to work when it’s 85.  This hurts as remember, summer on the beach with shells in my hair.  She apparently is not honoring this.  This means unless  I come in and jeopardize myself I lose a week’s pay a month.

A friend texts me Thursday night that the company has posted a job opening for Learning and Development.  I look it has been written to exclude me – must be able to sit or stand for long periods.

So, I  find myself in the same position I was over 20 years ago.  I did it again.  I put my heart and soul into this.  I cared. I did their work at the expense of my life.  They would call it scope creep at my job.   I can’t believe I bought into it.

I used to work in the garment industry and was laid off all the time.  I just had a sixth sense as to when it was going to happen plus someone would tip me off, too.  The only time that didn’t happen was when I was let go from my short interim position while I was doing little part time for the bank.  For the last three years,  I haven’t been feeling right there.  I have very positive moments and very positive reviews.  However,  this morning I said to myself “Face the facts.  You are going and sooner rather than later.”  I already had started taking things home.  However, when my credentials/capabilities were questioned. I brought in framed copies of my certificates.

I find myself feeling sad, nervous and betrayed.  I have to hold onto the belief that someone will hire me on suitable terms even though I am technically old, limp and use a cane.

I am resilient.  I always try and see the upside.  So being home for four days has been a blessing.  I am getting to catch up on my life.  I spoke to three friends on the phone yesterday, a luxury.  One was one of my exes (yes me and the eternal exes) and he had been with me for part of the first time.

I am approaching a milestone and am frighteningly aware of my mortality.  But this is an opportunity for new horizons and new possibilities as I approach this.

June Warrior Check In

Posted on by tresswann

Back for June, a little late.

How do I feel today – Today was horrid.  It started out at 4:30 a.m. with a rejection for a job I had interviewed for.  It would have meant getting up later,  more balance and paid medical insurance.  Plus, the area would let my husband work in the same area.  I missed my bus by very little so was late for work.  I had to do a taping at work and enlisted the guy that used to sit behind me.  He’s great to sit with.  Putting it in mild polite terms, he is, at best, a pompous ass to work with.  So,  I have been working on this project for over a year.  One for which he is supposed to act as my admin and enter all the details in the project tool.  I have been told he is claiming credit for it.  I have literally taped this around 20 times.  Couldn’t get the PC to share today for some reason.  He figured it out and gave a great reading.  Then he tells me the script needs to be “wordsmithed”  (I HATE, HATE lingo) and we need professional, real writer.  Grrrr!  Uh, I am one?  It’s the issue I have been facing.  I am currently out of favor, the grass looks greener to them.  After all of that, the tape is lost somewhere on the server.  I had to bring in the laptop (theirs) to do this and it needed security patches installed which took forever and went in a loop.  My phone charger broke.  I thought it had broken in the phone.  My back is hurting me.  It never hurts.  Even with husband helping me I barely made it onto the train.  Some guy dropped his suitcase on my arm.

On the upside, this has all strengthened my resolve.  I will and can get stronger.  I will and can get another job.  It is possible.  I did 12,000 or so steps today.

What did you do for yourself today?

Well, I went to lunch with a friend.  It was peaceful.  I am following through on a promise I made to myself at the beginning of the year to have lunch out of the office.  I ate appropriately, too.

What did I eat today and how did it make me feel – I ate nicely but…. My husband bought me a dish of gelato (verboten) as I type this.  My choice is that if I am going to cheat it will be with good stuff

Did I exercise? What did I do? How did it feel – The steps are moving up.  I am also planning on continuing daily abs work and I have started a yoga challenge and despite back, did not wimp out and did it.  It makes me feel better but also I realize how out of shape I have become.

For whom or what are you grateful? What matters most in life?   Grateful for friends.  My friends were around me today like a swarm.  My husband has been supportive.  What matters most?  Family and friends still hold first place.  The chance and strength to move forward.

Do I have a higher purpose or driving force in my life?   Make a mission statement – Higher purpose still not defined.  Beginning to dream again.  Still working on it.  To never give up, give in and be the best I can be.

How long have I been treated with conventional medicine Ampyra since April. I have walked more than I have in years.

The first time I had a symptom – June 2004 walking on the beach boardwalk

What symptoms are most troublesome – being off balance and not walking well, wearing ugly shoes and consequently ugly clothes.  I have a new spectral leg a.k.a. brace but still my shoes don’t fit.

Do I blame myself for things –  Yes, I am still blaming myself for not being aggressive against this. Still!  And I think always.  It’s funny how we don’t take things seriously

How is stress level? It’s high.  Way, way high

What can I do tomorrow to make it better than today?   Continue to try and be strong, stronger.  Go to the gym!  Smile!  Eat consciously and well.

Until next month.

The Dream Reader Assignment

Posted on by tresswann

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A Blogging 101 assignment. Can I say I didn’t start to blog for the readers but for me, the writer. This is sort of a King Midas in the bulrushes kind of deal.

My dad was one of the real pulp fiction writers. One of my earliest memories is turning over in bed as a child and hearing the typewriter banging and clanging. When he was on deadline, he would work through the night. We always read and wrote in my house. And Daddy always ripped everything I wrote to shreds. Not that I always minded. The first time I wrote a business memo after he died, I was lost.   He became president of the NYC chapter of MWA. I used to take him to the Edgars. There was an Ellery Queen/Alfred Hitchcock party beforehand. I was always the non-writer. The evening was almost always an “enough about me, how about you? How did you like my latest book?” At the last one we went to months before he died, he overheard someone questioning me yet again about my writing. He knew I always wrote. So why wasn’t I doing something with it? Well, I told him I felt I couldn’t while he was still alive. His gift to me and it was huge, he told me not to wait, that I had to do it. Well, he’s been dead 11 years and I still haven’t. No, Daddy is not my dream reader, far from it.

I need to write. It makes my life better. Is my dream reader me? No, as Daddy would have told you, I am the critical reader. Yes, I live to read as well. I lose my equilibrium. Writing is a close second. I don’t do it as much anymore for me. Email sort of saps me.

So again, I am doing this blog to save me. If you read my About, it’s about my confrontation with disease and mortality.

Back to dream reader…uh, someone who reads? Well, someone who might get me and where I am coming from (and where I need to get to) I haven’t given much thought to a reader. It’s about the writing also known as venting. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t announced to my small world that I am doing this. Some people know I have started but I haven’t told them where to look yet. Dream reader – someone who will go along for the ride.