BAMBI GO HOME

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Spring has finally staggered and stumbled into Cincinnati. It’s been a whole week and a half since I wore my heavy coat, so I finally can take it to the cleaners. A less rewarding chore presents itself—it’s time to maintain the outside of my house.

I admire those who love yard work, but I am not one of them. I abhor temperatures over 75 degrees, kneeling, squatting, dirt under my fingernails, and bugs. Scott feels the same, so last year we paid a landscaper big bucks to rip out and replace the overgrown shrubbery in front of our house. Our new plantings included several dozen of something called “coral bells.”

Bambi's favorite. It eventually will grow stalks and flowers if it is not eaten.

After a few weeks we noticed that the coral bells were not thriving. In fact, they seemed to be disappearing. Closer inspection revealed hoofprints around the foliage.

Now, I’m an animal person. One of the things I enjoy most about my suburban neighborhood is the wildlife that comes out of the “privacy woods” behind our houses. If it were up to me, I’d probably plant the stuff they like and sit around watching Bambi and Thumper chow down. But there are neighbors to placate, property values to maintain. And a critter café could get expensive.

This year Scott did some research and found a product called “Deer Scram.” The manufacturer, Enviro Pro, claims that this product won’t harm the animal, but stimulates a strong fear response by emitting an odor that deer and rabbits associate with their dead kin. The granules are unobtrusive, and humans can’t smell them. You can even order the product from Amazon.com. (Is there anything you can’t order from Amazon.com?) Scott bought the Deer Scram, and it’s working so far.

Who, me?

This reminded me that my sister-in-law Adrienne had a similar problem a few years ago. She lives in a handsome home at the edge of a golf course. Now Adie does love gardening, and her flower beds are showpieces. But she, too, was losing her plants to rabbits and deer.

Someone told Adie that coyote urine would repel the uninvited guests. This also was not cheap. (You know, it’s tough to get the coyotes to pee into those little cups.) But she sent away for a jug of the urine and applied it to her flower beds, and for a while all was well.

Until the evening when Adie looked out and saw an animal standing on her lawn.

No, not a deer or a rabbit.

Uh-huh.

Right on the edge of a golf course in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

I don’t know what she was so upset about. He didn’t want to eat the plants, after all. And her next application of coyote urine was likely to be free.

  I’m linking up with the Moonshine Grid on yeah write.  Click the link to check out a variety of the weekend’s best blog posts.

 

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WHAT FAMILY DOES

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“Thanks so much for all you’re doing,” my sister-in-law kept saying. My husband’s cousin had passed away, and we were attending a celebration of her life. We pitched in to give her a proper farewell—setting up tables, arranging pastries on platters, and helping to pay for refreshments.

“Of course,” Scott and I replied each time. “We’re family. That’s what family does.”

But I wondered, “Do I know what family does?” I’m an only child who grew up with no relatives nearby. “Over the river and through the woods” is just a line in a song. I never went to Grandma’s for Thanksgiving because one grandmother was long dead and the other lived in in a small apartment in New York.  Much of my husband’s clan has remained in the Chicago area, so he has a small network, but he hasn’t made an effort to stay close.  We see most of his relatives only at weddings and funerals.

Looking for similarities: my husband (right) and cousin

The following week, I drove from Cincinnati to northern Indiana to join my own cousins. (I’ve changed their names for this post.) Elaine entered assisted living last fall. She now lives in another state, close to her son Michael. Now I was helping Mike and his sister Rachel prepare Elaine’s house for sale.

I didn’t grow up with these cousins. My mother had four brothers, but they were scattered around the Midwest and visited rarely. Elaine is my first cousin, daughter of the oldest brother, but I am closer to Michael in age. I have a vague memory of him as a toddler, romping with his dog. I saw Mike next at eleven, then at fifteen, then not again till he was grown. A graduation, a wedding, a funeral.

A few years ago, I was in the area, so I dropped in at the little house where Elaine lived with her husband, Joe. As I was about to leave, Joe pulled me aside. He spoke of his concerns that he and Elaine would not be able to remain in their house. Her memory was failing; he was physically frail. I promised Joe that I would do whatever I could to help. That’s what family does, isn’t it?

We all love animals: beagle cousin

Joe died the next spring. Since then, I have tried to be a presence in the lives of Elaine and her children. I’ve visited on Elaine’s birthday, called and written with some regularity, helped with expenses. Now, when we’re together, I search for similarities between us.  We’re all good with words; we love animals; we laugh at the same jokes. “You’re so much like my son,” I tell Rachel. It’s true, but the two have never met. He lives in Seattle now, and he didn’t grow up with his cousins either. I regret that. However, not only did we live apart, there is no one on either side of the family within eight years of his age.

My cousins and I trade memories and anecdotes, but we have precious few. Stripping the house, we find Rachel’s baby book. The family tree inside it is bare above my grandparents, who came to this country from Russia. None of us know my great-grandparents’ names.

A rare keepsake: my mother with her parents and brothers, around 1920. 

Rachel and I envision what could have been. Sundays at Grandma’s: three generations of women laughing in the kitchen, cousins playing hide-and-seek, Grandpa teaching us to bait a hook, being tucked into the same bed at the end of a long day. We might not have liked it after all, but we long for what we never had.

Now that Elaine has relocated, Mike and I have little reason to return to Indiana. But I hope my cousins know they can count on me.  I want to be there for them if I know how. That’s what family does, I think. Isn’t it?

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THE TALK

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When my father died, it was almost a relief, because it meant we wouldn’t be having The Talk.

The talk I’m referring to has nothing to do with birds and bees. It’s that other discussion—the one about Dad’s driving.

By the time my dad was in his seventies, he’d already had two cataract surgeries, a failed retinal reattachment—and a serious collision with a truck. When he mentioned one day that a young friend had asked him to pick up her son after school, I almost choked.

Like many children of elderly drivers, I had dreaded The Talk and put it off, hoping for the best. When Dad passed away in his sleep at seventy-seven, keys on the dresser and car safely stowed in the garage, grief wasn’t the only emotion I felt.

I was forty-three then; I’m sixty-five now. I don’t know when my turn is coming, but I know it will. I’ve always had poor depth perception, and it’s getting worse as I age. I had a “lazy eye” surgically corrected as a child and never developed binocular vision. Today I reach into cupboards and come out with the wrong item. So far my occasional driving misjudgments have been confined to parking attempts.

My failed parking attempt.

For now, I’m planning to buy a smaller car. I hope I’ll know when to turn in my keys.

So you can imagine my excitement when I picked up last Sunday’s Cincinnati Enquirer and read Krista Ramsey’s article about a program called Beyond Driving with Dignity. It has been offered in Cincinnati since 2011, but it’s spreading throughout the United States and Canada.

Gurwell’s workbook.

Matt Gurwell, a retired Ohio State Highway patrolman, founded the program in Cleveland in 2008. In his twenty-four years on the force, he had delivered hundreds of death notifications to families of crash victims, including older drivers. Gurwell, now CEO of Keeping Us Safe, parent company for the BDD program, developed a curriculum, workbook, cognition and driving exercises to help senior citizens self-assess whether they can keep driving safely. The seniors work with professionals who receive annual training to maintain their certification.

Ramsey’s article featured the stories of two local motorists—David, in his eighties, who decided to give up driving, and seventy-seven-year-old Virginia, who performed well on the exercises. Virginia opted for a family driving agreement in which she would stop driving in the future if her sister recommended it.

“It’s about facts, not emotions,” Cincinnati BDD representative Nancy Schuster told Ramsey. “And it’s putting the decision back in the hands of the older person.”

The Cincinnati program costs $300, but participants can return for repeat assessments. Those who give up their licenses get help in finding transportation alternatives.

I don’t know enough about this program to endorse it, but I’m going to check it out—maybe not right away, but before my son and I need to have The Talk.

For more information on Beyond Driving with Dignity, visit the main Keeping Us Safe website, http://www.keepingussafe.org/, or read Ramsey’s article at http://news.cincinnati.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/AB/20130407/COL01/304070035/.

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TWILIGHT AT LAMBEAU (BOOMER LIT FRIDAY)

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Boomer Lit Friday is addictive! It’s fun posting a snippet of Incomplete Passes each week, reading the comments, and visiting the other authors’ blogs. If you’re joining us for the first time, Boomer Lit is a new genre that chronicles the generation born between 1946 and 1964.  Boomers are adjusting to retirement, traveling to exotic places, establishing second careers, and re-examining relationships.  Boomer authors bring wisdom and maturity to their craft, whether they write romance, action, inspirational pieces, or humor.  It all makes interesting reading, so be sure to check out this week’s selections at http://boomerlitfriday.blogspot.com.

I may take some time off from the blog hop after this post, but I can’t leave without sharing my favorite moment from my memoir.  It’s 2010, and I’m in Green Bay with my lifelong friends Carla, Del, and Pam.  We’ve watched the Packers play and returned to our hotel.  Later, Carla and I walk over to Lambeau Field again.

On our way back we come across a party of young people who are still tailgating–three hours after the game has ended–and tossing a football around.  “Hey, it’s Bart Starr and Brett Favre,” a boy calls out, motioning us to pose for a photo.  We can’t figure out why he says that, since we are wearing Packer gear, but no images or numbers that evoke the legendary quarterbacks.  Maybe, in the Rodgers era, this is his reference for “old.”  Or maybe he’s just drunk.

Then the one with the football cocks his arm and looks at us quizzically.  “Throw it to her,” I say, pointing to Carla.  “She used to be really good.”

The young man tosses the ball to Carla, and she catches it.  When she returns it, he throws it again.  This one slips through her hands, and she winces in embarrass-ment.  She picks it up and slings it back, and he looks at me.

“Make it easy on the old lady,” I tell him.  He lobs it gently.  I catch the football and pull it into my body as I was taught.  It’s the first time I’ve held one since my son was small, and I relish the feel of its pebbled surface.  Then I spread my fingers carefully across the laces and manage to put just the hint of a spiral on the ball as I sail it back through the growing twilight.

I could stay there in the twilight at Lambeau Field forever.  I almost made that anecdote the ending of my book, and sometimes I think I should have.  If you’d like to read about a fifty-year friendship that started in Green Bay (and catch the real ending), use the links above to order Incomplete Passes or inquire at your favorite bookstore. Again, thanks for visiting, and be sure to check out all the Boomer Lit selections at http://boomerlitfriday.blogspot.com.

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I SAID “NO”!

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It may not seem like much to you, but it was a big step for me.

“Meeting Wednesday 7:00,” the e-mail read.

“Sorry, can’t make it,” I replied.

Last week, for the first time in my sixty-five years, I bowed out of a meeting with no excuse except not wanting to go.

I’ve simplified my life because something scary happened to me last year. I stepped from my house into my garage, latched the door, and realized I’d left my tote bag behind. Going back to retrieve it, I could not remember how to unlock the door. We had lived in this house for fourteen years.

I stared at the door with its two locks. There was the small, round plate above, and the handle with the keyhole below. I had locked only one. Which one was it? Which way to turn the key?

I finally got in. I grabbed my bag, let myself out—and could not recall how to re-lock the door. I turned the wrong latch, causing my husband to lock himself out later when he went to get something from the garage. It took a week before locking the door became natural again.

This might have been disconcerting to a thirty-year-old, but at sixty-four it was terrifying. “I’m not starting dementia,” I told myself. “It’s just stress.” My cat had cancer; I was scrambling to market my book; and I’d had words with a co-worker at the animal shelter where I volunteer. I had reason to be stressed, didn’t I?

So I vowed to reduce stress by streamlining my life. “I’ll devote more time to writing and less to other stuff,” I said. I also wanted more time with my husband. It’s hard to think about, but we‘re in our mid-sixties—how many more years do we have together?

I resigned from the management team at the shelter, although I still work there two days a week. I turned down some responsibilities—“Been there, done that, someone else’s turn.” But this was the first time I’d ever signed up for a project and then skipped a meeting I could have attended.

I’m a baby boomer woman, after all. I’m part of the first wave of would-be Supermoms. We aspired to excellence in marriage, careers, and child rearing, all at the same time. “It’s only sleep we’re missing,” we told ourselves as we moved on to yet another obligation. There are times when I’ve stressed myself out, made myself physically ill by making the “responsible” choice instead of doing what I wanted to do.

But now it’s time to stop thinking that way. I hate meetings. So I went out to dinner with my husband instead.

And by the way, the simplifying thing is working. I’ve never had another episode like the one with the locks.

Of course my husband, being a man, was singularly unimpressed when I told him about skipping the meeting. “What do you want, a medal?” he asked.

Yeah, I think I do.

I’m hooking up this week with the challenge grid on Yeah Write. Starting Thursday, click on the link to see a lot of great blog posts (and vote for mine if you like it).

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PAM’S NEW FRIENDS (BOOMER LIT FRIDAY)

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Once again I’m participating in the Boomer Lit Friday Blog Hop, where about two dozen authors are showcasing snippets of their works.  Boomer Lit chronicles the baby boomers, now in their fifties and sixties and making transitions to a new stage of life.  You can find all the excerpts at http://boomerlitfriday.blogspot.com/.

My memoir, Incomplete Passes, ends in 2010, but it includes chapters about my childhood and early adulthood. In this selection, my best friend Pam and I have a chance to fulfill our dream of dating the Green Bay Packers players.

The gawky, geeky kids ...

The summer of 1968 brought Pam and me some long, lonely nights.  We were entering our senior year of college, and our boyfriends, who’d already graduated, were away in the army.  Throughout August, Pammy and I cruised the back roads of Wisconsin on twenty-nine-cent gas, warbling, “I’m So Horny” to the tune of “I Feel Pretty” from West Side Story. (“Oh, it’s corny how horny I feel …”)

Leaving Green Bay for college and becoming more or less engaged hadn’t changed our attitude toward the Packers in the least.  We were finally old enough to date them …

... are grown up and making new friends.

Pam had a summer job at the Model Cleaners and Laundry on Riverside Drive.  Model charged the Packers half price, so the players flocked in and handed Pam their dirty laundry.  I liked to say this gave a whole new dimension to the term “jock sniffing.”  Pam’s eyes–enhanced by tinted contacts–were a startling shade of blue, and she knew how to flirt with them.  She made lots of new friends.

 

Pam and I were early boomers, and our mothers had given us very little information about men and sex.  We were too naive to realize what we were getting into.  What happened with our new friends?  To find out, order Incomplete Passes through one of the links above, or inquire at your bookstore.  For more Boomer Lit, visit http://boomerlitfriday.blogspot.com/ and check out my fellow authors.  We have romance, thrillers, inspirational books, humor, and more–something new every week, something for every reader.

 

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MY EARLY TRANSITION (BOOMER LIT FRIDAY)

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I’m participating in the Boomer Lit Friday Blog Hop again this week, which means I’m one of about two dozen boomer authors posting snippets of their work on their blogs.  I hope you’ll check us all out at http://boomerlitfriday.blogspot.com/.

A tenet of Boomer Lit is that it’s about my generation’s transition to the third stage of life. In most cases, this refers to a boomer reaching the age of fifty or sixty and dealing with the changes that brings. But I was precocious.  I developed an obsession with aging when I turned thirty-five.  Having outgrown the 18-34 demographic, you see, I was no longer “officially” young.  It shocked me that I was now older than the active National Football League players I’d once dreamed of dating. And as this week’s excerpt from my memoir, Incomplete Passes, shows, that wasn’t the only problem with my self-image:

I was excited to host Joan and her family, and I pulled out all the stops.  But Joan told me, “You’re working too hard.  This isn’t fun for you or for us.  You’re turning into a regular Jewish mother.” 

Image from jewcy.com

I supposed Joan–nee Goldberg–ought to know one when she saw one.  Was she right?  Was I turning into a Jewish mother, like my mother, like my mother-in-law?  Even worse, was I turning into a 

guilt-inducing …

Q: How many Jewish mothers does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Never mind, I’ll sit in the dark.

… food-pushing …

Story of every Jewish holiday:  They tried to kill us; we won; let’s eat.

… chronically anxious …

Jewish telegram: Begin worrying. Details to follow.

Jewish mother JOKE?

Was this the image I wanted for my middle years?

And so began my premature mid-life crisis. Fortunately, I’ve pretty much resolved this now that I’ve reached my sixties and don’t closely resemble the lady above.  (Yeah, that’s me at left.)

How did I come to terms with getting older?  Would you believe … by scripting a musical comedy?  If you’d like to know more, please use one of the links above to order Incomplete Passes, inquire at your favorite bookstore, or stop by my website at www.incompletepasses.com.

And remember to visit my fellow Boomer Lit authors at http://boomerlitfriday.blogspot.com/.  We have something new for you every week.

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BOOMER LIT FRIDAY–MARCH 15

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This is the third week of the Boomer Lit Friday Blog Hop, and the second one in which Incomplete Passes has participated. In case you’re new here, Boomer Lit is an emerging literary genre that chronicles the baby boomer generation’s transition into the third stage of life. Most boomers are now over fifty, and they’re facing retirement, looking for second careers, and re-examining relationships. Their positive and entertaining stories comprise Boomer Lit–whether they appear in novels, memoirs, self-help books, poetry, or humor.  Nearly two dozen authors have showcased examples of Boomer Lit on their blogs this week.  I hope you’ll comment here, and then click http://boomerlitfriday.blogspot.com/ to visit the rest.

My memoir, Incomplete Passes, tells the story of four boomer women who established a fifty-year friendship through their love of the Green Bay Packers.  It’s not really a sports book, so I stayed away from football in last week’s excerpt.  But this week we travel to the environs of Lambeau Field, where strange things can happen on game day.

Pam and I come out of the Days Inn-Lambeau Field at about quarter to eight in the morning.  As is our custom, I’m driving her to Mass before the game.  As I locate my car, I recall that I had a spot of trouble parking it last night.  The lot was almost full.  As I attempted to pull out and re-enter at the far end of the lot, I almost hit a sawhorse that was blocking the exit.  I hadn’t had much to drink and my night vision is still fair, but the sawhorse was painted Packer green and was difficult to see in the dark.  Another sawhorse was sitting in a perfectly good parking spot.  Del and Carla jumped out of the car and moved the obstruction so I could park.  A group of revelers, sitting on the ground in the corner of the lot, were yelling at me, but I ignored them. 

As I approach my car in the morning light, my first impression is that someone is playing a practical joke on me.  A figure is draped over my steering wheel, a small man in a plaid shirt.

Who–or what–is in my car?  And will the Packers win the game?  If you’d like to visit Green Bay with the Incomplete Passes gang, please use the links above to purchase the book, or inquire at your local bookstore.  And be sure to check out the other samples of Boomer Lit at http://boomerlitfriday.blogspot.com.  We’ll have something new for you every week. Thanks for stopping by!

 

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BOOMER LIT FRIDAY

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This blog is trying something new!  I’m participating in a blog hop called Boomer Lit Friday.  Every Friday, authors will post short excerpts on their blogs, so readers can see what Boomer Lit is all about.  Boomer Lit encompasses novels, short stories, memoirs, self-help, poetry, humor, and more.  What the works have in common is that they all involve people who are fifty or older and transitioning into “the third stage of life.”  They may be retiring, starting a second career, or re-examining relationships.  There are many different voices; there really is something for all readers.

Here’s a snippet from Incomplete Passes.  I hope you’ll read it, comment, and then use the link below to meet my fellow authors.  Incomplete Passes is a memoir that centers on a fifty-year relationship between four women from Green Bay, Wisconsin.  For about fifteen years now, we’ve met “back home” every fall to renew our ties and take in a Packer game.  In this scene from 2010, Del, the only single member of the quartet, has exciting news.

During Door County summers in 1966 and ’67, she briefly dated a boy I’ll call Todd.  She lost track of him, but a few years ago she received an e-mail: “I’ve been looking for you for years!”  Recently they’ve been e-mailing regularly, and Todd will pick her up at the conclusion of our stay …

The next morning at breakfast, Del asks if I’d like an apple.  I can’t bite into one with my loose teeth, so she cuts tiny pieces off her big honeycrisp and pushes them across the kitchen counter to me.  The tender gesture tickles me; I feel like a baby bird.  I realize that Todd’s arrival is imminent and give Del an especially tight hug as I bid her good-bye.  She’s nervous, understandably.  When she and Todd last saw each other, they were rounding twenty and beautiful in the way that all healthy, young animals are beautiful.  Now they are grandparents.  Will there be any chemistry?  Will he be kind to her?  Will he even keep his promise to show up?

If you’d like to find out what happens to Del and meet the rest of the Incomplete Passes gang, please use the links above or at right to purchase the book, or inquire at your local bookstore.  And be sure to check out the other samples of Boomer Lit at http://boomerlitfriday.blogspot.com.  Thanks for stopping by!

 

 

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BOOMER LIT

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If you’re an author, or simply love to read, maybe you’ve heard a new term recently: Boomer Lit. It’s an emerging genre that encompasses novels, memoirs, self-help books, poetry and more.

The premise is simple. There’s a market of seventy-eight million Americans born between 1946 and 1964. They are reaching retirement at a rate of 3.5 million a year. Thanks to medical advances, they are healthier and can expect to live longer than preceding generations. They have a significant amount of disposable income; they are looking for new experiences. They grew up with books as entertainment, rather than cable TV or computers, so many are avid readers.

The Young Adult (YA) genre was created for the Boomers in the 1960s and ‘70s, and for decades it remained the only genre that was audience-centered rather than based on a theme such as romance or science fiction. Now those same Boomers are eager to read about people like themselves as they enter “the third stage of life.”

Claude Nougat, author of the Boomer novel A Hook in the Sky, is the initiator and foremost proponent of Boomer Lit. Last September she set up a thread in the Kindle Forums where Boomer authors could list their work, and in October she started a group on Goodreads to discuss and promote the genre. That group now has over 240 members. Nougat then established a Facebook page and Twitter account for the movement. High-traffic websites—including The Passive Voice, The Kindle Nation Daily, Digital Book Today, Gawker Media, and Venture Galleries—picked up the discussion, and Boomer Lit started to become a national phenomenon.

“Boomer Lit is not about nostalgia and evoking the past,” Nougat explained in a recent guest post on Wodke Hawkinson’s Find a Good Book to Read blog. “Like YA lit focused on the first transition to adulthood, Boomer Lit is about the next big transition.” But Boomer Lit is not about becoming old and gray and sick. This generation doesn’t lie down and quietly accept what comes.  Boomer books introduce protagonists who face life’s latest challenges with courage and humor. Each volume added to the group’s shelves illustrates that older people can be rebellious, sexy, romantic, adventurous, wise–and fun.

The "Incomplete Passes" gang--reading and living Boomer Lit

I’ve participated in the discussions for several months, and I’m struck by the number of Boomer authors who are first-time authors. I’m one of them, sixty-three when Incomplete Passes was published. With initial careers and a lot of life experience behind us, our generation is finding its voice.

While I’m a disciple rather than a leader, it’s incredibly exciting to be in on the beginning of a trend.

Is Incomplete Passes a true example of Boomer Lit, or is it simply boomer nostalgia? I’d say my memoir has a foot in both camps. IP devotes several chapters to my teen years, but it also takes me through “the midlife crisis that became a musical comedy” and depicts my pals and me as we are today, drawing strength from our friendship as we reunite in Wisconsin each fall. I see it as a coming-of-age story at three different stages of life.

Of course, you don’t have to be between the ages of 49 and 67 to appreciate—or write—Boomer Lit. Anyone is welcome to visit the Goodreads group and participate. http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/81261-boomer-lit-novels-short-fiction-memoirs-and-more:

And now there’s a new way to sample Boomer Lit. One of our group members, Shelley Lieber, has set up a weekly Boomer Lit Friday Blog Hop. Visit http://boomerlitfriday.blogspot.com and you can read excerpts from a dozen or more Boomer works. I’ll be participating for the first time this Friday, March 8. It’s a fun way to check out the trend, and I hope I’ll meet you there.

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