Memoirous

I few days ago (dear readers! you may recall) I blogged about my Law of What Needs to Happen First. It was sequential theory with a bit of the spiritual thrown in.  And, even still, it is hard to reconcile that sometimes a bad thing needs to happen before something good can take its place. This law perhaps cannot be applied to everything. Because, indeed, VERY BAD things happen to children. See Murders Up in Chicago 60% You can also read/hear/absorb through the airwaves the Jerry Sandusky story. Even if you wanted to avoid this one, it's been impossible. And every time the radio/TV/newspapers/Facebook reported on it, I felt sick to my stomach, and angry. But today I received confirmation that even out of this VERY SORRY EPISODE can come the next right thing. A wonderful woman I met last summer at a writer's conference A Room of Her Own, Dora McQuaid, a poet and activist who worked at Penn State as a voice against violence to women has been chosen (her image) to REPLACE

Last year I was challenged by Kate Gale of Red Hen Press to up my game. Kate's a good one for a challenge.For me upping my game meant submitting my work to second and first-tier magazines etc and trying for contests. I'm way too cheap to pay entry fees but lately I've been breaking down and entering--no luck so far. But right after AWP I entered the Bluestem Postcard contest and GUESS WHAT--I'm a winner. I tied for second place. Still . . . . I'm trilled and here is a link to Bluestem Magazine and my winning submission (it's less than 100 words so go for it).

My Uncle Bob Myers ran a heating and plumbing business in Upper Sandusky. It is my guess that these pics are from BEFORE the War. The one above says Aug 1941. P.S. If anyone is interested in reading more about Upper Sandusky--which by the way is south of the city of Sandusky (lower on the Sandusky River--go figure) then order a copy of my book Beyond Paradise where the main character Louise hails from Upper (what the locals call it!). For more info--see BOOKS MORE TO COME!

Photo reads Ann 1947, I'm guessing she is in Columbus at Ohio State for this pic Mom looks like she's working for the Salvation Army, but she's actually a WAC, 1943 - 1945 Here her hat is a bit washed out, but the suit look like the same one below In this pic even my brothers Steve and Tom are rocking some great hats! April 1955 P.S. to see these pics are any of the pics at my blog bigger and better--just CLICK on it and that should work!

from left to right: Aunt Mary, Aunt Gwen, Aunt Mart, aunt Izzy (Uncle Bob's wife), Grandma Myers, 1967 Aunt Lucilla & Uncle Jim 50th wedding anniversary middle is Mom, then me, Nancy, and cousin Debbie Mom as a WAC, Aunt Izzy, Aunt Jane holding Terry, 1945 Aunt Mart, Mom, Aunt Becky (the fun one), Aunt Gwen looking like Dorothy of Oz, 1943 Aunt Becky as a WAC, and Uncle Bob who had joined the Navy Mom and Aunt Becky with Gwen in the middle, 1945 Aunt Jane, Mom, Aunt Becky, Aunt Gwen, 1945 "The gang.", Mom is on the end and is still in high school I'm guessing, next to Mom is Gwen, Rose (a friend), Aunt Becky, then Jane, another friend. Photo taken at Upper Sandusky water works.

I was a very idealistic kid: I wanted to the change the world. Unfortunately I’ve grown up. Yet I still want to change the world. On the other hand I have no skills to stop/prevent: Crime Face-eating zombies Young boys from drowning Young girls from falling Climate change Greece from defaulting America from imminent collapse Face it—there is so much bad news out there that I can do nothing about, except read/hear/watch it on the news. AND there is more bad news about the news: Newspapers are dying! http://www.businessweek.com/ap/2012-06-12/times-picayune-cutting-half-of-newsroom-staff There is no such thing as fair and unbiased! Media frenzy/hysteria/overload! I can do nothing about the above either. Even the stuff I think I have control over is a fiction. My fiction is fiction—so too is a lot of my non-fiction. Just getting up each morning is a leap of faith. There is one skill I do have and which I frequently employ—my ability to write.

When traveling, my husband and I always wished to be adopted, taken home by a local. The closest we came was in Croatia, at the bus station in Split (I know an unfortunate name, I’m sure it’s pronounced differently) where tourists are descended upon by little old ladies vying to rent out their extra rooms/beds/suites. Two ladies actually fought over us, calling each other liars. Finally we went “home” with an old lady with teeth problems because I didn’t trust the other woman who spoke better English and tried to convince us she lived only 5 minutes away from the historic town center. I thought—no way do you live only 5 minutes away—it was a Unesco World Heritage site. So we followed our chosen old lady to her apartment (about a 15-minute walk) where the den was set up with a fold out bed and she offered us Nescafe and a package of stale cookies and with hand gestures and some Italian! told us how we could get back into the apartment before we left to go eat dinner and cruise the

The Transcendentalists would turn over in their graves Emerson at Harvard today Thoreau on the Merrimack and Concord, gliding past glitzy waterfront casinos Alcott would have a fit over No Child Left Behind They would not recognize 21 st C. Boston, their New England Emerson would likely snatch a blackberry From a passerby and Thoreau it into the Charles River. Where would Thoreau walk, there are no wild paths anymore leading to Walden Pond. Can you imagine Bronson Alcott ranting on Facebook? He’d be as bad as me quitting and starting, several times a year. Where would Thoreau shop for building supplies—Loews’s? Where would the Transcendentalists source groceries? Buy a book? Who buys books? Veterans of the Civil War and civil disobedience, Would they recognize today’s wars? Would they occupy?

Law of what needs to happen first --before the next thing --before the miracle --before more pain --or more joy Where is God in this sequence, at each juncture? Lately I’ve been mulling over an existential story I’m working on writing. And in the midst of existentialism I came up with my own Einstein theory=the Law of What Needs to Happen First. We all have at one time or another questioned God, gods, or the universe. When confronted with evil, injustice, the ugliness of humanity. There are never any easy answers. Even the questions are difficult. So hard in fact we begin to wonder if there is a God, gods, or comic book heroes that control/avenge the universe. I mean if there were such mythic being(s) then WHY? Why do certain things happen? Of course we never seem to ask why good stuff happens. Maybe because we’re too busy being happy. Anyway holding the baby of a friend who had joined the community, left, divorced (like a double divorce analysts would

What happens when developers set out to create hip, urban art districts? No there there. The kind of clunky, over-hyped monstrosities that artists usually RUN from. Just as real art is often the result of serendipity and chance, art districts emerge from an organic center rather than from city managers or top-down planning. An art district is not created from slapping up banners proclaiming “ART DISTRICT”. In an article at Salon.com by Will Doig Salon article several factors have been identified that go into artist initiated art districts: cheap rent=usually odd, old buildings/space. The coolest bars/cafes/boutiques/galleries have architectural nooks and crannies that lend mystique, or at least create cozy sitting areas. flexibility=to adapt said space w/out rigmarole or inane restrictions—usually imposed by the city to create a “district”. Hip cannot be legislated. Once left alone, Detroit has re-invented itself. Yes, it has a LONG