Memoirous

I once invited a comedian to perform at a homeless shelter. There were several factors at the time that went into this decision. One) Everyone appreciates a little humor Two) Those starting out need a little help and feedback ie they need an audience Three) At the shelter day program you have a built-in audience ie they aren’t going anywhere, they love the extra attention, and, sometimes, participation is mandatory In Chicago I was part of an artist resource network and occasionally there were on-line notices from up-and-coming comedians working on a schtick looking for feedback, bookings, etc. I contacted one of them to see if they were interested. Thus, I booked someone I’ll call Frank. Frank arrived in the alley separating the two across-the-street shelters. I found him nervously smoking a cigarette. It’s gonna be fine, I said. To be honest, Frank wasn’t great. His routine needed a lot of work and polishing. But the guys were generous with their laughter and, at times,...

World Wide Pictures is a film studio/production run out of the Billy Graham Association. Cue “Thief in the Night.” A movie most Christian teenagers remember seeing and responding to the “altar” call. I mean who wants to get left behind (another infamous film and book title). I remember being freaked out by the movie: Wait! What’s going to happen?! The Hiding Place based upon the writings of Corrie Ten Boom ( Tramp for the Lord , etc) is a memoir of sorts, before there was even a thing called memoir. It is the story of how Corrie, a middle-aged woman, and her older spinster sister, and their elderly father Casper Ten Boom a watch/clock repairman are inspired to help Dutch Jews hide and escape from the occupied Netherlands during World War II. The movie came out in 1975. As a kid, I remember it being very Jesus-y. As a young adult entering street mission work in the inner-city of Chicago, I remember the maxim that God gives us what we need at the right time, based upon Casper’s father...

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The Things We Never Say Elizabeth Strout Viking, 2026 Elizabeth Strout’s new book is out, The Things We Never Say , and I read it over one week. Am I an Elizabeth Strout fan? I don’t know, but I’ve read everything. Why? Because they hold my attention. The writing is such that I can easily enter the heads of the characters while at the same time nothing is spelled out. We are allowed to interpret: Was that conversation a bit off? Did she just dismiss him? Now what are they supposed to do? Basically, they are basic. The stuff we humans endure. Secrets, inner pain, frustration with relationships. Laundry. Jobs that do not satisfy. Unfulfilled dreams. Why? Because they are dreams, destined to stay that way. The order of things. I was struck while reading The Things We Never Say how similar this book is to the writing of Kent Haruf*, a novelist who wrote about a fictious town on the eastern plains of Colorado. An area called the Front Range. In the town of Holt where nothing much happ...

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I’ve started to be a little more intentional about booking seminars (I’m open!) and promoting my Substack and books. Sort of. I was asked recently to be on a podcast, Written in the Stars , put out by Lansing Community College. Thanks for reading Freeze Frame: How to Write Flash Memoir! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. I chatted with John Szilagyi and Robin Moore about books and writing and particularly flash. John asked an interesting question–about what got me into writing. Hmmmmm. It seems I’ve always been doing it. There were no outside motivators, such as an encouraging adult or teacher. If anything, my parents and classroom teacher tried to snuff out the creative spark. I remember my dad coming home from a parent/teacher conference with a sheaf of papers. Random writing from my desk at school. The teacher complained to Dad that I was fooling around when I should have been working/paying attention. Dad handed my writing to me and told me I could write a...

First it was the eyes, then the surgeries, then the heat, now the Canadian wildfires—there’s always a reason to put things off and lay around the house reading or doing a craft. Taking a walk or a short bike ride through the woods, watching the sunset orange and mauve or rise all yokey in the morning. I make excuses to visit the garden to meditate over the cucumbers, kale, the tomatoes that stubbornly refuse to bear fruit. Anything. Everything except settle in to write. I had a check in the other day with a writer friend. This person is head and shoulders above me with her abilities and talents, yet—she told me she’s not writing and has no pans to at the moment. I asked if it was for a season or what?? She answered, I don’t know. She hadn’t made a decision to quit, only to stop feeling bad about not writing. It freaked me out. I can let things slide. I can take a break, but I can never stop thinking I should be writing. The voice inside my head, the devil on my shoulder: they’ve ...

I’m highlighting a few random memories this week. President Richard Nixon resigned on August 9, 1974. About that time I was a sophomore in high school sitting in a world history class. The teacher was somewhat tired, weary perhaps of the world, the weight of current events. Anyway, he said what we were living through would one day become subject matter, part of the curriculum for future students of history. I had no doubt about that. But what really struck me was how long it would take. I mean it would be part of my story, embedded in my psyche and how I approached government. Feed my mistrust of leaders.— To be clear: I was NEVER a Nixon fan. My parents voted for him and souped up all the bs put out about why Vietnam was important (the Domino Effect) and why so many had to go over and fight and die. We watched the draft lottery on television. My brother had a low number and went off to college. He would be safe. Now, fast forward to JD Vance and his insipid comments about rede...

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This blog is about memories, and one memory that’s been popping up repeatedly lately—not sure why, maybe prompted by a bit of music or the country’s birthday or ICE/immigration chaos—I’m remembering a bike trip, my first solo tour, in Florida beginning of February 2014. I was in south Florida, perhaps a day away from the Keys, and had a Couchsurfing host lined up for the evening at a kind of farm. Of course, I had an address, but I’m not sure I yet had a smartphone, only a flip, which can give GPS. I could use it in a pinch. Anyway, I was south of Homestead in a smallish town and though I’d ask directions—always fraught. Locals rarely know where they are and if they don’t bike have no idea of how to get somewhere without accessing major roads. But, I thought I’d take a chance. There was a mother and son walking down the sidewalk. She had her arm through his and he wore Western-style clothing: a cowboy hat, boots, jeans, white dress shirt. They looked respectable, in other words. What...

This week as I'm navigating cataract surgery, heat wave, going back to work--I appeared on a local podcast, Written in the Stars, put out by Lansing Community College. I think it went well, except for the coughing fit I succumbed to in the beginning and my phone dinging from notifications. (I'd turned off the ringer but forgot to silence.) All good. They'll fix it in the mix. As they say. I think we had a nice conversation. I chatted with John Szilagyi and Robin Moore about books and writing and particularly flash. John asked an interesting question--about what got me into writing. It seems I've always been doing it. There were no outside motivators, such as an encouraging adult or teacher. If anything, my parents and classroom teacher tried to snuff out the creative spark.  I remember my dad coming home from a parent/teacher conference with a sheaf of papers. Random writing from my desk at school. The teacher complained to Dad that I was fooling around when  I should h...

Maybe a year ago while out running in the neighborhood, I saw a bus letting students off and a young boy juggling a back pack and instrument case. I kept running. But something stayed with me. I wrote a piece from the perspective of voice messages. I wasn’t sure if it worked and forgot about it, until . . . I was running again in that same neighborhood and remembered the bus and kid and that short piece. I revisited it and made a few changes—none of which my critique group liked. Without reading the first draft they nixed the stuff I added (I thought for clarity). I sent it off in April and right away ArLiJo, Arlington Literary Journal took the piece. Out now! https://www.arlijo.com/post/issue-223#viewer-onb7d1146 Located in Arlington, Virginia, the intent of  ArLiJo  is to feature a variety of authors/poets/artists from around the globe whose work provokes readers to contemplate issues, etc. Having said that,  ArLiJo  like Gival Press looks for work th...

First eye done. I can see. The hard part: waiting to be able to resume my “normal” activities. Till then, no lifting more than 10 lbs, no bike riding, no sweeping, no swimming or water in eye. It’s hard to just sit around. I want to ride my bike through the woods, take my grandson to Lake Lansing and get into the water. Start up running again. Lift my youngest grandson and lay him down for a nap. I did rebelliously sweep my kitchen floor and mop it. I felt like a deviant. Things I might want to put off, now sound enticing. Cleaning out the shed, for instance. Soon, though, this episode will be behind me. There will come a time when I’d do anything to waste time on a summer day, so I may as well enjoy it now.

I’ve learned that birthdays don’t mean a lot. In fact, they can be somewhat disappointing, a let down. Birthdays come and go. Since this blog is about memories, I’d like to share how I celebrated the 200 th birthday of the USA. 1976 found me at a Young Life camp outside of Pittsburgh, PA. I was a volunteer at an inner-city youth camp put on by an organization for high schoolers called Young Life. It was considered cool Christian. My high school allowed the club to post info in meetings on campus. I met through Young Life a life-long friend, Jane McSweeney nee Jarrell, from Dayton, Ohio. She was city mouse and I was if not country mouse at least Centerville-suburban mouse. She and I were recruited for the camp, where we met Mark Bruce and a few other Young Lifers. I didn’t work directly with the kids; I did laundry. It was a regular machine and took forever to do many, many loads. On the morning of the 4 th , I was aware it was supposed to be a monumental day—for the nation, not ...

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Three days after coming home from a grueling bike trip, a tour of the Pacific Coast to San Fran, I went into cataract surgery mode. A friend asked: is it operation or surgery or procedure? Not sure. I was kitted up and on a gurney and rolled into an operation theater. Anesthesia was twilight, meaning I was awake but didn’t feel anything. No after effects. I came home and made Swedish crackers. Sat outside under trees and wearing sunglasses watching grandkids. The next day the eye cup was removed and . . .   MAGIC. My vision was so clear as to make me wonder if it was AI, if it was real. Everything was super crisp. I was elated and at the same time sad about what I’d been missing ever so gradually for the past 6 months. Especially the dirt on my floors that I can see only too well now. But, I’ll have to wait a bit longer for a big clean, as I’ve been advised to stay away from dust and dirt and be careful about lifting, and no bending head lower than waist for about a week. The...

This was a hard trip: the climbs the roads my eyes length of tour But, I rode my ass off. I did really well with the climbs, finishing, staying in the saddle, etc--it's just that I could handle only 3 big ones of 1000 feet and then I was sapped. In the end, it was the numerous short. steep ones that felt like too much. If doing this tour, consider 30-40 miles along the coast in California a good distance. The roads: mostly a wide bike lane, but not always. You must be good with traffic right next to you. Even at night I could hear the 101 buzzing from the h/b camp site. There was not a lot of peace and quiet--except on the Avenue of the Giants and a few back roads. Cars and traffic were a persistent element of the tour. My eyes: they are what they are. I did it. Now I'll get my cataract surgery and have the rest of the summer to wonder what I might have missed had they been perfect. If doing the Pacific Coast, I recommend a flexible schedule. Sure, you'll have to figure out...

 I spent 5 days exploring San Francisco. It is a big, international, hectic city. I'm surprised--after living in Chicago for nearly 40 years--how overwhelmed I felt. Of course, my friend had to work and helped me out with a ride to and from the hospital, but touring the city was not going to be something we could do together.  Tuesday, I sourced a bike box and after she clocked out of her remote social media job, we went to the Castro and explored the Mission District. I bought a book as I had finished the one I brought in the park waiting to camp, which never happened. I was happy enough just to eat and build up energy. Wednesday, I set out on my own to explore the city. I took a bus to Fisherman's Wharf, then walked up a hill to the Norwegian Fisherman's Church (excellent views!) and nice chat with ladies there, who offered me coffee and a waffle. Then on to the crookedest and steepest street in SF (there might be others, but this one is touted). I stumbled into a tour of...

 My first full day off the bike in San Francisco was spent with our friend Mark Zuckerberg. Hahaha. The hospital he had endowed. Historically terrible people such as slave owners, robber barons, union busters, etc have supported/started institutions. I just find it so ironic  But, who cares! I needed to get an idea of what was going on with my finger.  I was dropped off a little before 10 a.m. and was released around 4:30. In between staff brought me crackers, like a pre-schooler snack. I walked in and the process of check in went great. My insurance was accepted. I saw a nurse who sent me for X-rays. Then the real wait was for the person who was going to snatch the finger and straighten it out. He told me his name was Joseph, he had gone to University of Chicago, we had a lot of patter which took my mind off the fact he used a needle to numb and was going to have to realign the dislocated finger by yanking it. Listen, it all went well  More time, though, spent getti...

 I'm sitting here with a picture window view of the city on a somewhat overcast chilly morning. There are palm trees and in the back I am level with the tree tops. From the street (steep) the house looks tiny, but it extends back and down the hill on many levels. My friends are in the midst of landscaping the back yard that has a plum tree.  But first, how I got here.  I attempted this tour with a few downsides. Age 67, solo woman, with cataracts. Each day my decision was called into question. Mostly, though, everything worked out. Until . . . I crashed into the barricade at the end of one of the paths leaving Santa Rosa. I got into a hurry and was frustrated with myself for taking the wrong path. So nothing ever changes: directionless.  I was okay except for my left hand ring finger. It swelled up immediately. But I continued riding to Petaluma, where I finally got lunch and regrouped to tackle a few hills before stealth camping. The hills were hard with my compromi...

 Sooo, last night, between calls, etc and flakey signal, it was decided I would abandon the coast, eclipse a few days, and hopefully set myself up for SF tomorrow. A few details. 1) It was a monster getting over Leggatt and the second hill. I got out and got on it, so that 1 was to the coast by 11 a.m. So that's not the problem. What I realized was how much daily climbing I was going to have to do, and I knew my timetable was way off  2) Joy in the journey. It's been beautiful and difficult. There's seldom been other riders in the hike and bike. But in Standish Hickey the 2 guys there were totally wasted. The one guy just lay on the ground. He slept there all night long.  Anyway, it's been hard to find joy in the journey. Each day is full of climbs, inland almost 100 degrees heat, and by the coast WIND.  I've had to navigate with poor eyesight. I know, I came anyway despite the cataracts, and mostly it's worked out.  Today, more difficult. I arose at 4:30 and be...

 Today was the day I'd been dreading, going over Leggatt Hill--actually 2 big hills before the coast. I'd tried unsuccessfully to get a ride--good thing, I had no idea I'd be leaving the 101 for the 1. Someone might have said yes, and I'd ended up in the wrong place. Or maybe it'd been okay. More to come  I set my alarm for 5. Yet, had terrible sleep. All night it sounded like car doors closing. Come to find out this a.m. that critters had gone throughout campground tearing the lids off the trash cans and making a mess. Anyway, I'd tried to eat up most of my food in order to reduce weight. I had only tactical rations in my handlebar bag. Enough, I thought for climbing and then riding 28 miles to Westport where there was a market with sandwiches, etc.  After leaving the campground at 7:50 I started out going downhill--boo--then at a turn for the 1, the climbing began. The climb took me less than an hour for about 1000 feet over approx 4 miles. The downhill took a...

 Coldest night/hottest day! Last night my camp neighbors did a campfire. I discovered there were 2 hiker biker sites, one closer to bathroom, so I moved  Even though I didn't have a lot of miles to do, I was up early and packed to go. One reason being that if I was moving I'd warm up. I'd gone to bed in my usual wool long underwear and wool shirt plus a fleece and leggings on over long underwear. During the night I added a jacket and rain pants. This decision to leave early was the wise as you'll see. By 11 I was in Garberville eating some lunch. And, already it was HOT. Like 90. I could feel the heat coming up off the pavement. Definitely was not ready for that.  I had about 22 miles to go and it was going to be a lot of climbing. It was so hard. I mean I did it and stayed in the saddle and stayed hydrated, but it was ugly. Thankfully the last 10 miles before I had to get back on 101 were a state route 271 with virtually no traffic. But HOT and not a lot of shade. Oddl...

 I've had a couple easy/easier days. Not a lot of miles, most climbs manageable. There's a give and take with the 101--climbs are announced with time to downshift. Of course, the negative is the loud traffic. Today's 101 was short-lived and there was a wide bike lane. The problem with back roads is that the UPS can be surprisingly sharp. Even in my lowest gear I had to get off and push  Last night I ate dinner in Ferndale--at an old hotel, possibly from the Gold Rush time period. There must be an architectural mandate that preserves much of the town. The bar at the hotel was wide and wooden and like a set piece from a Western. I got a pricey hamburger with a mountain of tater tots.  I rode home just as the sun was settling in the West. All slanty and golden. I really loved camping at the fairgrounds. I had the bathroom/shower completely to myself. I've been having issues, not sure if the chain lube has much to do with it. Definitely nerves.  Today is my 7th day of tr...