Memoirous

 I remember as a kid getting a seasonal job at a sporting goods store during Christmas. It convinced me retail was not for me. It was just over Christmas break and I knew nothing. I didn’t know how to count back change, run a cash register, or even fold shirts. Let alone how to size and fit skis or string a tennis racket. It was continually like those dreams where you are standing in front of your high school locker naked forgetting the combo.   Daily humiliation. My boss seemed to be a very chill dude. He’d go in the back to wax skis and maybe smoke, ahem, a very fat cigarette. The smell disguised by the odor of burning wax. I always had the impression he’d rather be on the slopes rather than selling equipment. People say to me it must be nice to work at a bike shop—except it’s hard to get time off to do the thing you love. Ride bikes. Nevertheless, maybe I am cut out for retail. Of the several sales clerks, I am at the bottom of the ladder as far as knowledge. One lady can se

As I’ve previously written: Spring is in the air here in Okemos, Michigan home of the . . . . Not sure. There are a lot of woods, leaves on the ground, deer wandering around, squirrels of various coats and colors, and birds. Lots of singing. All this is somewhat new to me as someone who has been in doors working much of their adult life. I now wake up to the above. So . . . Spring is in the air. There are so many fluctuations now between day and night. At night temps can get down to the teens and during the day soar to the high 50s. Even this can change on a dime and there be snow cover in the morning and melt by early afternoon. The Norwegians have a saying: there’s not bad weather, but bad clothes. I will leave for work with layers and lobster gloves and for the ride home need sunglasses and go bare-handed. I pack an extra bag for the clothes abandoned for the ride home. With the time change, I also leave work in daylight. No need for blinkies and headlights—though I still

I’ll make this short and sweet: I’ve signed with an agent on a nonfiction project. Yes, it’s flashy, yes it’s memoir-ish, and yes—it’s about bicycles. And, so much more. It’s about life, my life and the universe coming together in certain moments to propel us along. Stay tuned—and thank you readers. Both of you! author at age fifteen, dreaming in front of typewriter

With the advent of  Dayights Saving Time—which I am totally in favor of, NOT the things that happens in the fall that throw us into the depths of premature afternoon darkness—there has been an attitude adjustment. Call it a sign of hope. I felt it yesterday when I was out walking at 3 pm and the sun was blazing down and the other walkers all had coffee and smiles on their faces too. Yes, it was cold and there was snow on the ground and several inches more in the shadows, but there was a fresh step in their walk. All of us felt it. Spring was coming. A certain slant of light. There's a certain Slant of light, (320) BY EMILY DICKINSON There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons – Yes, Emily, you saw it too! The way the light and shadows mix and send us forth, to smell the awakened ground, the wind in the trees, the birds suddenly more active. They chatter in the treetops. None may teach it – Any – 'Tis the seal Despair – An imperial affliction Se

Hey all you readers (both of you) I’ve been tapped to sit on a Zoom panel for this, the inaugural debut meeting of the Network for New York School Studies (NNYSS). Why? You might ask. Yeah, I know, me too  Well, it began in 2019 (actually much earlier, but for now let’s stick with 2019). There was a call for papers for the symposium in Paris and because, of course, I’d already written some stuff about my 2017 trip to Great Spruce Head Island and because I’d continued to do some research into topics aroused by that visit, I submitted a paper. It was accepted in Dec of 2019. My recollection—because, understandably a lifetime has passed since then—is that I confirmed at least I’d Skype in or something to deliver the paper via online, with, perhaps, the idea, I might also go to the symposium, which was definitely PUT ON HOLD when Corona virus was declared a major worldwide pandemic. Then lockdown, etc. So as I was browsing in my browser in February, I saw that the conference is back on wit

Snow on the ground: check Morning temps in the teens: check Studs on my bicycle tires: check Cold hands and feet when I arrive at work: check, check, check But there is a hint of spring as if the earth knows it has a super power. The birds know, so do the squirrels running the fence posts. The dogs on leashes have a lighter step to their gait. The light breaking through the clouds has a purpose, a re-found courage to shine. During the day the ice and snow melt on the streets and sidewalk, only to refreeze at night. There is a fresh dusting of snow each morning, but it is soon gone. Light lingers in the sky later, Now after work I can walk to Tom’s Food Center, past the pond and tattered woods where there is a water renewal project going on, and it’s still not dark. The birds and the ground know—and they emit little sounds—as if breathing. They are no longer holding their breath. Once again the earth did what its always done before: The return of Persephone. Spring. A great

 Smashwords is where you can download my ebooks. March 6 - March 12, 2022 my books will be on sale for 25% off so cheap, cheap, cheap! Follow this link:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=jane+hertenstein

I’m not a fan, it simply came on after I’d watched another program on PBS from my computer and I was too lazy to get up and shut it off. Real-life, I guess. Anyway, this has happened twice and both times two sets of women songwriters were featured. This last time it was Sharon Van Etten and Lucy Dacus. Now to be fair they were not new to me. I’d actually downloaded from the Apple store their songs. I just didn’t know it was them. I was simply responding to “hey, I like what I’m hearing” and downloaded. So it was nice to hear these singer/songwriters in context. After the Sharon Van Etten set she did an into the camera 2-minute response about her music and process. She said she riffs. Ends up with 10-minute long “songs” which she afterwards begins to shape, pulling out lines, turning them into lyrics. It’s only after the riffing or vomiting on paper that she begins to see a story, or understand the point she wants to make. I get this because it happens to me all the time. I’ll wir

 Smashwords is where you can download my ebooks. March 6 - March 12, 2022 my books will be on sale for 25% off so cheap, cheap, cheap! Follow this link:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=jane+hertenstein

I’m in an anthology from Sweetycat Press about Beauty. I believe it was like New Year’s day when I sent in this beauty—a flash I’d written after an evening walk in my diverse, strange neighborhood in Chicago. Since then there’s been a pandemic, several moves, and just last week I got news one of the folks mentioned in my walk passed away, found frozen to death on the cold city streets. So it is with melancholy and bittersweet memories I recall this submission, called What I Saw on my Walk Last Night, in the new anthology Beauty. Links below if you care to order. What is beauty? We know not everyone thinks of the same things as beautiful. A morning sunrise can be wondrous or blinding. A flower can be lovely to look at, but deadly if tasted. Not everything that is beautiful can be seen or touched; it can also be a feeling. A beautiful thing like love can bring great joy, or great sorrow. In our journey through life we are taught to believe some things are beautiful and some things