“Why do you write?”
This question has been asked many times in writers groups and my answer is always the same: I have a story inside that needs to be told.
For as long as I can remember, I said I would be an author. Every book report ever written or presented in school asked why I selected the book I did. My answer was always the same. “I selected this book because I will write one like it someday.”
I would see things in everyday life and make up stories to explain them. I’d give people names and personalities. They would have conversations. (A stroll down the Vegas Strip is full of inspiration.) My brain and my notebooks are filled with scenes, stories, and characters.
As with many people, life got in the way of this childhood dream. There was a spouse, a child, a mortgage, and a string of energy-sapping jobs.
That spouse discouraged me so I got rid of him. The child and jobs did not leave much time for anything else. A new spouse entered the picture – one who encouraged my creativity and my silliness. Eventually, the child grew up, moved to New York, and became a writer. Still, I wasn’t writing. I can do that any time, right?
Two years ago today everything changed. I suffered a heart attack and had emergency heart surgery - either of which could have easily ended my life. It took almost a year to for me to finally understand how fortunate I am to be granted this additional time. It’s a gift many people don’t receive. I owe it to myself to fulfill the promises that schoolgirl made 30 years ago.
And THAT is why I write.
Wednesday, July 26, 2017
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
Each Day is a Bonus
Have you ever pondered the meaning of life? The meaning of your life? I find myself doing this often.
My pondering comes from survivor's guilt. Survivors guilt occurs when a person believes they have done something wrong by surviving a trauma. I survived a heart attack and emergency heart surgery at a younger than normal age. It's an unsettling feeling to know you're losing consciousness AS it's happening.
A month before my heart attack, a high school classmate suffered a fatal heart attack. At the time, I was shocked. She was young. Like me. For several months after my surgery, I wondered why I survived and she did not. If I was a religious person, I might think a supreme being has a bigger plan for me.
This question intensified a few months after I returned to work. A surgeon I worked with spent two weeks providing needed medical care in a poor, South American country. On his way home, he suffered a fatal heart attack at the airport in Chicago. He spent his career improving others' lives. He was a very kind and giving man. I tend to be selfish. If I was a religious person, I would question the supreme being's judgment on this.
A few months ago, GirlChild's friend and classmate suffered either a fatal heart attack or an arrhythmia. He was 24-years-old and just beginning his adult life. He should have had many years of life and happiness stretched out before him. If I was a religious person, I would be pissed at the supreme being.
So why am I here? I have no answers to this question but I've come to understand that I have been given an incredible gift and I plan to use it. I travel more. I experience life. I promised myself in eighth grade that I would write a book. I'm doing that now. Each day is a bonus and I'm making the most of them.
My pondering comes from survivor's guilt. Survivors guilt occurs when a person believes they have done something wrong by surviving a trauma. I survived a heart attack and emergency heart surgery at a younger than normal age. It's an unsettling feeling to know you're losing consciousness AS it's happening.
A month before my heart attack, a high school classmate suffered a fatal heart attack. At the time, I was shocked. She was young. Like me. For several months after my surgery, I wondered why I survived and she did not. If I was a religious person, I might think a supreme being has a bigger plan for me.
This question intensified a few months after I returned to work. A surgeon I worked with spent two weeks providing needed medical care in a poor, South American country. On his way home, he suffered a fatal heart attack at the airport in Chicago. He spent his career improving others' lives. He was a very kind and giving man. I tend to be selfish. If I was a religious person, I would question the supreme being's judgment on this.
A few months ago, GirlChild's friend and classmate suffered either a fatal heart attack or an arrhythmia. He was 24-years-old and just beginning his adult life. He should have had many years of life and happiness stretched out before him. If I was a religious person, I would be pissed at the supreme being.
So why am I here? I have no answers to this question but I've come to understand that I have been given an incredible gift and I plan to use it. I travel more. I experience life. I promised myself in eighth grade that I would write a book. I'm doing that now. Each day is a bonus and I'm making the most of them.
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
Catcalling
Do you know what it’s like to be a woman? The catcalls and
the public groping are out of control. This problem occurs everywhere but I
think it’s more prevalent in large cities where most of the population utilizes
public transportation.
For this writing, I will define catcalling as any comment or
whistle of a sexual nature made to a woman passing by. This definition makes it
clear that a catcall is very different than a compliment.
GirlChild experiences this every day in New York City. When
she ignored a catcall, she has been followed and called vile names. When she
responded with a New York, “Fuck off!” she has been followed and called vile
names.
I’ve been catcalled in the Midwest. I would wait for my bus
and men would drive past yelling all sorts of repulsive things. You know who
responds to that? Hookers. I am not a hooker but this behavior sure made me feel
like one.
One woman likened catcalling to a war zone. Catcalls were
like incoming bombs – each one causing a chink in your armor. A war
zone. Let that sink in for a minute.
Two women recently shared stories involving their daughters.
One was twelve-years-old and out for a walk in the sunshine with her mom when two
different passing cars catcalled them. The daughter was wearing a flower crown.
Nothing says "child" quite like a flower crown. The other was a 14-year-old who
was catcalled and followed home when she was attempting to cross the street to
buy some candy. Candy. These two innocent girls are quickly learning to be ashamed of
their bodies.
Recently I asked a friend to post some questions on
Facebook. She has a large, eclectic group of followers and the responses
received using this completely unscientific method would be an accurate
representation from society. The questions were:
1.
Why do some men do this?
2.
Why does it make most women cringe?
3.
If a woman takes it as a compliment, does it say
something about her?
I learned from the responses that some women DO think this
is a compliment. And some middle-aged women would give anything to receive
catcalls on the street again. I wonder if these ladies would have a different
response if they were younger and regularly on the receiving end of this harassment. In both cases, I worry about the lack of self-esteem exhibited by this
desire for validation from a crass stranger.
I learned some people think catcalling is done only by groups
of men – each trying to prove to their friends they are manlier than the last
guy who hollered. I know from personal experience and by anecdotal evidence
shared by GirlChild that this is not the case. As a woman on the street, I find
the lone man catcalling to be the most intimidating. In most cases, the group of men
will not follow you but the single man does not have his friends checking his
behavior.
I learned that none of the men who responded to this
Facebook discussion thought catcalling was acceptable. It was denounced with
comments like “Real men don’t do this” or “My mom would have throttled me if
she heard I acted like this.”
If most women don’t like it and most men find the behavior
reprehensible, why does this boorish behavior still occur? Several reasons were
mentioned.
We already mentioned the women who need this validation from
a stranger. Because they need this validation, catcalling may have worked in
the past. Perhaps they smiled at, said thank you to, or even flashed the catcaller. Also,
remember how I said it made me feel like a hooker? If it works with a hooker,
the less evolved male members of the species will try it with any female.
It was also mentioned that groups of men do this to prove
their manliness. Testosterone fueled pissing contests. Are we lucky girls, or what?
My own research indicates this can be done for power. In an
article published on Thought Catalog, titled “11
People Who Cat Call Women On The Street Explain Why They Do It” mentions
the most terrifying reason of all – power. One man said, “A catcall or a car horn beep gives me a momentary
feeling of power over them because I can see their discomfort.” That sentence
should give you the creeps.
I firmly believe allowing catcalling to continue unchecked
emboldens the men who are unstable or entitled. If they can degrade women
verbally, how long will it take before they are the men groping women in the subway?
Our unofficial Facebook dialogue indicates catcalling should
end. But how?
Several countries – including our neighbor to the north –
have laws that make this type of behavior illegal. That may work for them but
it will never work in the United States. We value our freedoms. We believe in
the freedom of speech guaranteed by the first amendment. Any laws against
catcalling would infringe on this right.
If a law is not feasible, what next?
As a society, we need a culture change. A lot of things used
to be acceptable in the US in our past. Drunk driving, treating others as second-class
citizens because of race or gender, even owning people. I know. Catcalling is
not as extreme as owning people but the principle for change is the same.
If Rosa Parks had simply given up her bus seat, who knows
where the civil rights movement would have gone. If Susan B. Anthony and
company has accepted that women were less than men, what would have happened in
the political realm? If Candace Lightner had quietly mourned the death of her
teenage daughter, would we have the drunk driving laws that have saved
countless lives in the past 36 years?
These three examples have one thing in common. Someone spoke
up with words or actions. They banded together with like-minded individuals and
they created the spark that ignited the flames of social change.
How can you speak up? One woman in the Facebook discussion
mentioned she worked for a construction company. Her employer had a policy
stating employees engaging in the behavior would be terminated. There were no
second chances. As a business owner, why would you not have a policy
like this? Anything less gives your employees permission to sexually harass and
intimidate strangers while they are representing your company. Is that
really the image you want for your business?
You can also speak up by speaking up. If you are in a group of men when this boorish
behavior begins, you can refuse to participate. You can enlighten your friends.
If you are just a witness, that should not prevent you from
standing up for women. You can tell a catcaller how offensive their behavior
is. And if you see a catcaller escalating his bad behavior by following the
woman, your moral code should require that you step in.
The women who endure this every day are somebody’s daughter,
wife, mother, or sister. She could be yours.
Wednesday, June 28, 2017
Marketing 101
I've seen them. You've seen them. We've both asked "Why?" Or, "Who would buy THAT?"
That is any one of a number of products released recently. It could be the women's jeans with the clear vinyl where the knees should be. It could be the men's jeans designed to look mud stained. It could be the one-piece women's swimming suit printed to look like a hairy chest.
I know who buys these. Nobody. Nobody does. If nobody buys these absurdities, why are they produced? That, my readers, is sheer genius.
They are designed to be talked about - among your friends and on radio and television. They are designed to be shared on social media.
I can tell you that both of the jeans I described were carried by Nordstrom's. I know that because I heard about them on the radio and the local news. I saw them all over Facebook and Twitter. The small investment to produce these products that nobody will purchase pays off untold times. We're doing all the work to provide this free advertising to them.
Brilliant!
That is any one of a number of products released recently. It could be the women's jeans with the clear vinyl where the knees should be. It could be the men's jeans designed to look mud stained. It could be the one-piece women's swimming suit printed to look like a hairy chest.
I know who buys these. Nobody. Nobody does. If nobody buys these absurdities, why are they produced? That, my readers, is sheer genius.
They are designed to be talked about - among your friends and on radio and television. They are designed to be shared on social media.
I can tell you that both of the jeans I described were carried by Nordstrom's. I know that because I heard about them on the radio and the local news. I saw them all over Facebook and Twitter. The small investment to produce these products that nobody will purchase pays off untold times. We're doing all the work to provide this free advertising to them.
Brilliant!
Thursday, June 22, 2017
The Adventures of GirlChild
A guest blog by GirlChild. Like what you read? Follow her on Instagram.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am Girl Child. My mom has written about me before, but never to the extent that I am about to go into myself. It’s not her story to tell, it’s mine. I’m in my 20s, Wisconsin born and raised. I lived in Florida for two years, moved back to Wisconsin for almost two years, and then one day at the end of summer 2016, everything changed.
You see, I’m a huge KISS fan, and if you know anything about non-casual KISS fans—you know, the ones you see depicted in movies or TV—we will do almost anything for those boys short of murder. Actually, come to think of it, some KISS fans might commit murder if doing so gave them the opportunity to rub shoulders with Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Tommy Thayer, and Eric Singer for the night. Either way, not the point. The point is we will do a hell of a lot for the opportunity to be so close to greatness.
One night last summer, I was at a KISS concert… not a surprise. I was hanging out with someone I’m proud to call a friend afterwards (if you’re reading this, love you dude), and decided I was going to fly to New York City for another KISS show the following month. Remember when I said we’ll do a hell of a lot to be so close to greatness? This is just one example. I did as planned, and it was a great time. But here’s the kicker:
I just said screw it and stayed in New York. A week and a half after arriving, I got a job at a restaurant in Brooklyn. A week and a half after that, I got a phone call from another friend. You see, when I moved out here, I started a blog about what it was like leaving Wisconsin with a couple hundred dollars, no job, and no house. This friend had seen it, and thought I was a fantastic writer. She then expressed to me that she does concert photography for a music website, and was wondering if I would be interested in her passing my information on to the editor of that site so I could possibly do CD reviews, concert reviews, and artist interviews. Of course, I said yes. Why wouldn’t I, right?
The editor contacted me and everything was quickly squared away. I told him there was a concert I’d planned on attending anyway, since they were going to be on the KISS Kruise, and asked if I could do a review on the show. He promptly said yes and that right there was the beginning of the end.
Since that night, I’ve become friends with that band, started working for that band, and my god… are they ever picking up steam! I’ve rubbed shoulders with some of the greatest in rock n’ roll. I even just got back from KISS’ European/United Kingdom tour, where the boys I work for were the supporting act.
It is truly amazing how quickly you find your life running in an entirely different direction than ever planned. It is even more amazing how quickly that different direction can snowball you into a lifestyle you never imagined yourself legitimately living, despite wanting to.
If you told me a year ago today all the things I would accomplish by this time the following year, I would’ve laughed in your face and told you I needed to get back to work. But it’s real, and I own it.
My life is not for the faint of heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I asked for ANY of this?
Okay, for those of you that know me
and know what I’m on about, it probably does seem like something I asked for.
For those that don’t know me; what you’re about to see, you may not believe,
but I promise you with every ounce of my being that it is.I am Girl Child. My mom has written about me before, but never to the extent that I am about to go into myself. It’s not her story to tell, it’s mine. I’m in my 20s, Wisconsin born and raised. I lived in Florida for two years, moved back to Wisconsin for almost two years, and then one day at the end of summer 2016, everything changed.
You see, I’m a huge KISS fan, and if you know anything about non-casual KISS fans—you know, the ones you see depicted in movies or TV—we will do almost anything for those boys short of murder. Actually, come to think of it, some KISS fans might commit murder if doing so gave them the opportunity to rub shoulders with Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Tommy Thayer, and Eric Singer for the night. Either way, not the point. The point is we will do a hell of a lot for the opportunity to be so close to greatness.
One night last summer, I was at a KISS concert… not a surprise. I was hanging out with someone I’m proud to call a friend afterwards (if you’re reading this, love you dude), and decided I was going to fly to New York City for another KISS show the following month. Remember when I said we’ll do a hell of a lot to be so close to greatness? This is just one example. I did as planned, and it was a great time. But here’s the kicker:
I never went back to
Wisconsin from that trip.
I just said screw it and stayed in New York. A week and a half after arriving, I got a job at a restaurant in Brooklyn. A week and a half after that, I got a phone call from another friend. You see, when I moved out here, I started a blog about what it was like leaving Wisconsin with a couple hundred dollars, no job, and no house. This friend had seen it, and thought I was a fantastic writer. She then expressed to me that she does concert photography for a music website, and was wondering if I would be interested in her passing my information on to the editor of that site so I could possibly do CD reviews, concert reviews, and artist interviews. Of course, I said yes. Why wouldn’t I, right?
The editor contacted me and everything was quickly squared away. I told him there was a concert I’d planned on attending anyway, since they were going to be on the KISS Kruise, and asked if I could do a review on the show. He promptly said yes and that right there was the beginning of the end.
Since that night, I’ve become friends with that band, started working for that band, and my god… are they ever picking up steam! I’ve rubbed shoulders with some of the greatest in rock n’ roll. I even just got back from KISS’ European/United Kingdom tour, where the boys I work for were the supporting act.
It is truly amazing how quickly you find your life running in an entirely different direction than ever planned. It is even more amazing how quickly that different direction can snowball you into a lifestyle you never imagined yourself legitimately living, despite wanting to.
If you told me a year ago today all the things I would accomplish by this time the following year, I would’ve laughed in your face and told you I needed to get back to work. But it’s real, and I own it.
My life is not for the faint of heart.
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
The Isolation of Poverty
Poverty leads to a lonely existence. You're constantly working just to stay afloat. Even if you have the time, you don't have to money to go out to dinner with friends. In my case, even inviting people over for dinner was not an option. If I could overcome the cost, I was embarrassed by my threadbare carpet and the hand-me-down furniture which was only passed to us because it was so worn my in-laws were buying new furniture.
As I was clawing my way out of dark abyss that is poverty, I set rules for myself. If a friend invited me out, I always said I had to check with my assistant Frank first. (Frank was the name of the day planner/time management system provided by my employer.) I used this time to find the restaurant's website and check their menu. Sometimes I could afford the cheapest entrée. Other times my budget only allowed the purchase of an appetizer. If everything was out of my budget, I got back to the invitee and told him or her I had a previous commitment.
It was a great plan that should have worked. Unfortunately, nothing is fool proof.
Many nights while enjoying the company of my friends, I would watch some of them throw back drink after drink while I sipped my water or soda. There was no room in my budget for alcohol. When the check came, someone invariably suggested splitting it evenly because, "It's easier." Often the person making the suggestion was the one who drank the most.
Each time I was forced to pay for others' meals or drinks, I would do a web search for advice regarding how to handle this situation. Nearly everything I found suggested I should just suck it up and pay or not accept invites to dinners. I can understand why. You are in a no-win situation. Speaking out about the unfairness of this could not end well for me. If I refused this split based on general principle, I would look cheap. If I explained my budget situation, I would be mortified. But if I just sucked it up and paid more, I would blow my meager budget.
One evening we were celebrating a friend's birthday. I had planned my spending for the evening. I was splurging on a margarita and a nacho appetizer and I would pitch in for the birthday boy's dinner.
I arrived early so I ordered and paid for my drink at the bar. We were eventually seated and three of us decided to split the nachos because the waitress said the order was huge. After dinner, one woman grabbed the check and told us everyone's share was $34.50. There is no way I was paying that for 1/3 of our $9.99 nachos!
Empowered by the presence of two others who were also being asked to pay more than ten times the cost of their food, I spoke up. I pointed out what we ordered. I said I was willing to pitch in for the birthday meal but there was no way I was subsidizing other people's drinks when I couldn't afford my own.
Today I am financially secure but I haven't forgotten my 19 years in poverty. I see the signs in some of our friends because I've lived them. When a friend panics about social gatherings or cancels at the last minute, I notice. When a friend drinks only water or sips the same soda all night, I notice. When a friend consistently orders the cheapest thing on the menu, I notice.
Struggling financially is no reason to be socially isolated or embarrassed. When I plan outings for our friends, I do my best not to put people in positions I have been put in. I select restaurants that are a good value. I ask for separate checks so nobody is uncomfortable when the bill arrives. I look for free or inexpensive activities. I host dinners in our home. I will not be the one to exclude others or make them uncomfortable about their current situation.
As I was clawing my way out of dark abyss that is poverty, I set rules for myself. If a friend invited me out, I always said I had to check with my assistant Frank first. (Frank was the name of the day planner/time management system provided by my employer.) I used this time to find the restaurant's website and check their menu. Sometimes I could afford the cheapest entrée. Other times my budget only allowed the purchase of an appetizer. If everything was out of my budget, I got back to the invitee and told him or her I had a previous commitment.
It was a great plan that should have worked. Unfortunately, nothing is fool proof.
Many nights while enjoying the company of my friends, I would watch some of them throw back drink after drink while I sipped my water or soda. There was no room in my budget for alcohol. When the check came, someone invariably suggested splitting it evenly because, "It's easier." Often the person making the suggestion was the one who drank the most.
Each time I was forced to pay for others' meals or drinks, I would do a web search for advice regarding how to handle this situation. Nearly everything I found suggested I should just suck it up and pay or not accept invites to dinners. I can understand why. You are in a no-win situation. Speaking out about the unfairness of this could not end well for me. If I refused this split based on general principle, I would look cheap. If I explained my budget situation, I would be mortified. But if I just sucked it up and paid more, I would blow my meager budget.
One evening we were celebrating a friend's birthday. I had planned my spending for the evening. I was splurging on a margarita and a nacho appetizer and I would pitch in for the birthday boy's dinner.
I arrived early so I ordered and paid for my drink at the bar. We were eventually seated and three of us decided to split the nachos because the waitress said the order was huge. After dinner, one woman grabbed the check and told us everyone's share was $34.50. There is no way I was paying that for 1/3 of our $9.99 nachos!
Empowered by the presence of two others who were also being asked to pay more than ten times the cost of their food, I spoke up. I pointed out what we ordered. I said I was willing to pitch in for the birthday meal but there was no way I was subsidizing other people's drinks when I couldn't afford my own.
Today I am financially secure but I haven't forgotten my 19 years in poverty. I see the signs in some of our friends because I've lived them. When a friend panics about social gatherings or cancels at the last minute, I notice. When a friend drinks only water or sips the same soda all night, I notice. When a friend consistently orders the cheapest thing on the menu, I notice.
Struggling financially is no reason to be socially isolated or embarrassed. When I plan outings for our friends, I do my best not to put people in positions I have been put in. I select restaurants that are a good value. I ask for separate checks so nobody is uncomfortable when the bill arrives. I look for free or inexpensive activities. I host dinners in our home. I will not be the one to exclude others or make them uncomfortable about their current situation.
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
Safe Harbors (A blog about GirlChild)
GirlChild is fearless. She went to New York City for a rock concert and stayed. She had no job, no plan, no savings, and only two paychecks remaining from the job she left at home. She also travels all over the world - often alone. She has flown into, out of, and through many of the world's busiest airports on her journeys. See? Fearless!
Her most recent trip was to the United Kingdom. She spent the largest portion of that trip in London but she also visited Birmingham, Manchester, and Stonehenge.
Unfortunately, her vacation was tainted by terrorism. She arrived at the Manchester airport days after the bombing at the Ariana Grande concert at the Manchester Arena. GirlChild was planning to attend a KISS concert at this same venue one week later but it was cancelled for obvious reasons.
When GirlChild first heard about the bombing, she was concerned I would pressure her to cancel her trip. I assured her I would not. The UK was on high alert after the attack and terrorists don't usually attack in the same country twice in a row - or that close together - so I felt she would be safe.
Boy was I wrong!
She was in London for the attack on London Bridge. As if that's not bad enough, she was AT the bridge! GirlChild was not harmed and she did not see this unfold. That doesn't matter to a mom. Just knowing she was there was bad enough.
I considered asking her to move back to the relative safety of the Midwest. That was a fleeting thought. She might be safer here but I didn't raise her to run. I raised her to fly. You can get hurt anywhere so I will not clip her wings.
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