Tag Archives: Peggy Browning writer

Prayers for Oklahoma

Prayers for Oklahoma

by Peggy Browning

Prayers for Oklahoma

Prayers for Oklahoma

There are few words that can describe what happened in Moore, Oklahoma on May 20, or what happened in Shawnee, Oklahoma on the day before, or in Granbury, Texas the previous Wednesday. There are few words, but we stop to say prayers for Oklahoma and for Texas and for everyone who was and will continue to be affected by the tornadoes.

Some of the words we use to describe what happened are: devastation, loss, death, grief, horrific, and massive. Others words used are: hope, love, loyalty, courage, heroes, and miracle.

President Obama asked that we follow our prayers for Oklahoma with deeds. There are so many needs and we, of course, desire to respond to them.

We Americans are generous and we want to help our neighbors. We gather our resources…our cast-off clothing…our belongings that we can spare…and we share them.  We send food and clothing and other things that may or may not be necessary.

Right now the words that describe the needs are: diapers, water, shelter, money. Money is important. Money can be used to supply those needs. The stores in Oklahoma and Texas are not closed…they are not in short supply of necessities…if you have money, you can still buy your necessities. It’s the money that can be in short supply.

When a Texas town was destroyed by an F-5 tornado,  a well-known food company sent supplies. They sent an 18-wheeler truck full of salad dressing. When the mayor of the town called to thank them, but also told them that they had no use for salad dressing because they had no salad…no electricity…no shelter to store the salad dressing…the company responded by sending a truckload of salad. The food company was generous…but not responding to the needs. The people of the town thanked them and the salad spoiled because there was still no electricity or a place to store an 18-wheeler of greens. The generators were being used to power other necessities…things more important than salad.

I find myself heart-broken thinking of the suffering of my neighbors. Tonight I will make a pot of potato soup and a pan of cornbread to give myself some comfort in this tragedy. I wish I could take away their sorrow as easily.  I will hold my grandchildren closer and I will tell my children that I love them because we never know what will happen tomorrow. And I will send up prayers for Oklahoma and Texas.

I wish I could change what happened in Oklahoma and Texas, but there is nothing I can do to change it. I can help in other ways. I’ll send money…not now…but later…because it is always needed and always appreciated.

And if all the money that’s given can’t be used immediately, it can be stored away to use on another day, unlike salad. Their needs are great; my capacity to give is small. But I can give what I can…

If your heart tells you to help those in the storm’s path, give money. Give time. Help, but don’t get in the way. If you aren’t needed today, be patient. You may be needed tomorrow or next week or six months from now. The damage from the storms will have a long-lasting effect. If you can’t help today, you can help later.

Send your money to the Red Cross and the Salvation Army. And continue to say prayers for Oklahoma and for Texas, too.

To send donations:

www.redcross.org/Donation

www.salvationarmyusa.org/tornado

Death and Taxes … Baby Boomers Life after 50

Death and Taxes

by Peggy Browning

Death and Taxes

Death and Taxes

There are only  two things that are guaranteed to each of us in this life: death and taxes. Every one of us will die, but before we do…we will pay taxes.

Today is the day we pay up: April 15, 2013. Unless, like me, you are a lazy lug and you had to file an extension.

Death and Taxes

I’ve been giving a lot of consideration to the inevitable death and taxes lately.  I read the obituaries every single day. I’ve done that since I was a little kid. And just about every day, I pay some kind of tax. Both are on my mind a lot.

I have a lot of thoughts on the subject of death, but I’ll save those for another time. I’ll just share my thoughts on taxes today. Death and taxes are too heavy for just one blog post.

While I was thinking about taxes today, I pulled out my federal tax return from 2010. It was the only one I could find…so I’ll work from it.

Here’s what I found:

In 2010 I had an adjusted gross income of a little over 40 thousand dollars. That was from working two jobs…a full-time job teaching in a public school and a part-time job working as an usher at an entertainment venue. My taxable income was just a bit over 30 thousand dollars.

I paid $4,295.00 in federal income taxes. In addition to the taxes I sent to the IRS,  I also paid $2,150.00 in school, county, and city taxes…property taxes. I don’t know how much I paid in sales tax, except that here in Texas the sales tax is 8.25 % of any taxable purchase. And, believe me…just about everything I bought except for most grocery items, is taxable.  I bought a new car in 2010 for approximately $20,000.00. I’ll let you figure the sales tax on that.

So, anyway, I was thinking about what I received for my taxes of approximately $6,500.00, excluding all sales tax.

Here’s what I got for my money:

  • A free, appropriate public education for my grandchildren. (In fact…I also received a FAPE…and so did my children).
  • A working public sewer system.
  • A source of water, piped directly to my home.
  • 24/7 Police protection.
  • A judicial system that works most of the time.
  • 24/7 Fire department protection.
  • Paved streets in my mid-sized city.
  • Paved alleys in my mid-sized city.
  • State parks, federal parks, and city parks.
  • A public venue for concerts and sporting events.
  • A city councilperson to represent my district.
  • A state representative, a state senator, two U.S. senators, and a U.S. representative.
  • An infrastructure that supports transportation, electricity, other sources of energy, and fiber-optics for internet service.
  • Interstate, intrastate, and farm-to-market highways.
  • The FDA to ensure safe medications and treatments, the CDC to research communicable diseases, FEMA and the National Guard to help me in time of disaster.
  • A public transportation system in my hometown.
  • Access to mental health treatment.
  • Access to public health treatment.
  • A tornado warning system.
  • FCC regulated television and radio stations.
  • FAA regulated air travel.
  • NOAA weather information.
  • Round the clock protection by the military serving in the U.S. and all other foreign assignments.
  • The FBI, the CIA, etc.

And those are just a few of the perks of paying my taxes.

Here’s some other perks that make me feel good about paying taxes:

  • The young single mother who works with my daughter received food stamps and Medicaid. She also received subsidized child-care and subsidized housing. Her children were well-fed, had medical care when they needed it, had safe child-care, and a suitable home.
  • The frail, low-income pensioner received nursing home care through Medicaid.
  • The state universities received federal subsidies to provide post-high school education for my neighbor’s children.
  • Research hospitals and universities received federal grants for researching ideas from cures and treatments for cancer to better agricultural methods.
  • Millions of unemployed people received unemployment benefits that helped save them from total desperation when they lost their jobs…on which, by the way…they pay a 10% federal income tax.
  • Dairy farmers received a federal subsidy so that the price of a gallon of milk is still affordable.

That’s just a few of the things for which my taxes pay. Federal, state, county, city, and school taxes…all used to keep our lives and all the perks to which we are accustomed going well.

The two inevitable facts of life are death and taxes. We are assured of both. We can like it or we can lump it. No one looks forward to either of these inevitable forces of life.

Whatever…we will always have death and taxes.

 

Hoarder or Historian? Boomers…Life after 50

Hoarder or Historian?

I know what I am, but what are you? I ‘m a hoarder.

by Peggy Browning

I’ve been going through boxes, closets, and yes…piles of stuff…in preparation for moving from my 3 bedroom, 1.5 bathroom house into a much smaller domain (a travel trailer.) Now I’ve come to the awful conclusion that I’m a hoarder.

Yep. I’m only one box of junk…one Rubbermaid box of outdated clothing…and a pile of newspapers with a dead cat underneath it…away from being a hoarder.

All this time I’ve thought more kindly of myself…calling myself a pack-rat, a collector, even a historian. But no, I have to face reality and this can be called nothing other than being a hoarder.

I derive a certain pleasure from just looking at my stuff. I even go to garage sales and estate sales because I get excited about looking at other people’s stuff. I love to open a box and find a long forgotten treasure and wax nostalgic about it for a few minutes.

And now that I’m sorting through my belongings, trying to weed out the fluff and keep only necessities, I find it to be rather painful to think of getting rid of all this junk. Some of it holds memories of good times past; some of it holds the hope of good times ahead.

For instance…I bought a pewter teapot at a junk store recently. To me, this is not simply a beaten up old teapot. In my mind, I see this teapot sitting on my kitchen table holding a bouquet of peace roses cut from my rose garden decorating a little home filled with love and grandchildren and fresh-baked cookies. I imagine my grandchildren having fond memories of seeing that little teapot filled with roses, remembering all the love at Grandma’s house. I see them fighting over the teapot after I die. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I'm a little teapot...filled with imagination...

I’m a little teapot…filled with imagination…

But…I don’t have a rose garden much less a blooming peace rose. I don’t have fresh baked cookies straight from my oven. Soon I won’t even have a kitchen table, other than the one in my soon-to-be-purchased RV.

So…shall I toss the teapot thereby tossing my hope for nostalgic remembrances of me after I’m gone? Well, duh…toss the teapot. And write that descriptive scene about the roses in one of my yet to be published novels.

They have stories to tell, but nobody's talking.

They have stories to tell, but nobody’s talking.

And what about my naked Chatty Cathy doll who no longer chats? My Francie (Barbie’s cousin) with the broken leg and smart short hairdo that I styled for her? My Pepper & Pete & Penny dolls with the bendable wire legs? My naked  beheaded original Barbie doll body?

I tried giving them to my five-year old granddaughter only to be rebuffed with “Eeewww, Grandma, that’s yucky. I don’t like them.”

I’ve considered it my place to pass along memories, to tell my descendants about my life. I’ve considered myself a historian. When I was two years old, our elderly neighbor, Mrs. Gill, entrusted  a china doll, a porcelain cup, and a Frozen Charlotte doll with my mother to keep for me.

 

My china doll, Angela Amelia and Frozen Charlotte, her companion.

My china doll, Angela Amelia and Frozen Charlotte, her companion.

Mrs. Gill too, was cleaning out her home, sorting through her treasures, preparing to down-size from her big two-story home in the country. The doll belonged to her daughter, who died in childhood.  The cup was a gift from Mrs. Gill’s best friend in honor of her 14th birthday. Frozen Charlotte was accompanied by no story. My mother kept these things secure for me and gave them to me when I grew up, passing along the trust to ensure their safe-keeping. I’ve packed these possessions in boxes and moved them over 30 times, from apartments to rentals to my own home. There are no chips or dings on them anywhere, except for the original chips and dings.

Now what do I do with them? Move them again or entrust their well-being to someone else? (I’ll probably take them along with me.)

My first Trade Days purchase.

My first Trade Days purchase.

I’ve been collecting junk since I was a kid. My Daddy let me tag along to Second Monday Trade Days when he took pigs to sell there. He would give me a dollar and allow me to wander the streets at the monthly trade fair. My first purchase was a set of bookends for a quarter…which left me enough money to buy a snow-cone and other niceties. Those bookends have been packed up and transported on over 30 moves as well.

I’ve called myself a collector all these years, but all that I consistently collect is merely dust. I have some in every room of my house…

The naked truth is…I’m a hoarder. I hoard memories of the past and hope for the future.

But now where will I stash all these memories and hopes in a travel trailer? I sympathize with the hoarders on the TV shows. I know it’s painful to let go. But it’s time. It’s time to let go.

I’ll have a moving sale and set my treasures out for the public to buy.

Anybody need a mute, naked Chatty Cathy? She needs a good home. She’s ready to move on.

World Poetry Day … Baby Boomers Life

World Poetry Day  March 21, 2013

by Peggy Browning

In Celebration of World Poetry Day 2013

In Celebration of World Poetry Day 2013

Today is World Poetry Day.It’s a great day for romantics and dreamers world-wide.  In honor of this lovely day, I’m sharing some of my favorite poems.

The first poem is by Sara Teasdale. I love her gentle verses although they tend to be a bit melancholy. I discovered her work during my junior year in high school in my English III literature textbook. The first Sara Teasdale poem that I read was There Will Come Soft Rains. It touched my heart and I’ve kept it there all these years since. That’s what poetry does…it touches us somewhere deep inside and allows us to keep those feelings whenever we remember it again.

There Will Come Soft Rains was written after World War I and talks about the recovery of Nature over the battlefields. It talks about annihiliation of the human race 25 years before the first atomic bomb was exploded to end World War II. And yet this poem says it so beautifully…

There Will Come Soft Rains

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the ponds singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire

Whistling their whims on a low fence wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,

If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,

Would scarecely know that we were gone.

- Sara Teasdale -

Another poem for World Poetry Day

My mother quoted poetry often. I loved to hear her dramatically break into verse at the slightest inclination. She loved Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and often said…”under the spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands…” and then launched into the poem for no reason at all other than she liked it. She also loved Evangeline, Longfellow’s epic poem of unrequited love. (Her great-grandaughter is named Iris Evangeline, in honor of the heroine of the poem and legend.)

My favorite poem that my mother quoted was The Swing, by Robert Louis Stevenson. I can still hear her voice, reciting it, when I read it now.

The Swing

How do you like to to up in a swing,

Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the well,

Till I can see so wide,

Rivers and trees and cattle and all

Over the countryside___

Till I look down on the garden green,

Down on the roof so brown___

Up in the air I go flying again,

Up in the air and down!

_ Robert Louis Stevenson _

And just one more…for World Poetry Day

This is one of my favorites by Shel Silverstein. It describes perfectly my view on life…or how I wish it could be for all of us, every one of us.

Hug O’War

I will not play at tug o’war.

I’d rather play at hug  o’war,

Where everyone hugs

Instead of tugs,

Where everyone giggles

And rolls on the rug,

Where everyone kisses,

And everyone grins,

And everyone cuddles,

And everyone wins.

- Sheldon Allan Silverstein -

And one last thought on World Poetry Day:

Thank you for sharing my favorite poems with me on World Poetry Day, 2013.

I hope your day was filled with giggles, hugs, kisses, and grins.

That way Everybody Wins!

You can buy my books on Amazon.

Over 50 Shades of Gray … Life After 50

Over 50 Shades of Gray…Life After 50

Platinum power

Over 50 Shades of Gray

I’m not talking about the popular, naughty book that’s a best-selling phenomenon. I’m talking about hair color. That’s a popular topic in my “over 50” set of friends and acquaintances.

To color or not to color. That is the question. What do we do with the shades of gray that are naturally and aggressively coloring our hair?

For me…presently although not so much in the past…it’s an easy answer. I don’t color. I used to color my hair, but I no longer do it.

It used to be that I was just “dying” to look younger. But I don’t care any more.

I love my “shades of gray”  hair. I love it for the convenience. No more worrying about covering roots that pop out two weeks after an expensive dye job. No more looking ratty because I’m too cheap to go to the beauty shop on a regular basis. No more plopping a blob of dye on my head and rubbing it in, my eyes burning while I wait for the color to set.

The truth is that I’ve been in various shades of gray since my late 30s. When I was 30 something I called it premature gray. But now that I’m over 50,  it’s not premature  any more.

It’s just gray. Or platinum or silver or Arctic blonde or ice…whatever you prefer to call it. I like to call it platinum.

 Over 50 Shades of Gray

There must be at least 50 shades of gray hair color lining the shelves of hair dye at Wal-Mart. Yes, some people do pay good money to have their hair colored the same shade that mine is naturally. It always makes me feel just a little smug when I pass those shelves and don’t put any products in my basket.

At least I have one thing to feel smug about! Some women even tell me that I’m brave to let my hair go natural.

At one time my hair was a pleasant natural ashy light brown. Then one strand at a time the color changed all by itself. And the grayer my hair grew, the curlier it grew. So now, instead of having straight brown hair, I have curly gray hair. Or platinum… or one of those other shades of gray.

Who knew that could happen? I didn’t.

There’s lots of advantages to going gray.

In my case…I no longer have to get a permanent to make my hair curl. I get senior discounts at the movies and discounts for McDonald’s coffee without even asking for them. I think it’s because of my hair color, but it could be because of all my wrinkles.

Young men open doors for me and Boy Scouts offer to help me cross the street. Small children bow when they see me.

OK…so I may be exaggerating the benefits of this “shades of gray” hair just a bit. But here’s the facts: I like my hair this way and I intend to keep it this color.

I’ve had my hair lots of shades of other colors. It’s been at least 50 shades of blonde, maybe 10 different shades of brown, a light shade of purple,  and one awful, awful, awful shade of red. (Maybe not so much red as a blinding maroon. Anyway, the maroon didn’t really work for me…in fact I had to call in sick to work…hack, hack, cough, cough… until the color faded a bit.)

This hair color is just right for my Life right now.

Trust me. It’s easier this way. And I’m all about being easy. Oh…you know what I mean!

Author Peggy Browning

Author Peggy Browning

Dvora Swickle…Women Writers Over 50

Author Dvora Swickle Women Writers Over 50

Author Dvora Swickle
Women Writers Over 50

Women Writers Over 50

Fifty Odd is featuring women writers over 50 each week for 50 weeks. Each guest answers questions about her writing subjects, her writing inspiration, her purpose for writing, and her current books and upcoming writing projects.

Dvora Swickle…Women Writers Over 50

Children’s author, Dvora Swickle, is my featured guest this week. Dvora writes encouraging stories intended to uplift children who may feel a little bit different due to their own learning styles. She inspires each child to find their own special ability and gift and to embrace the special person we are all meant to be.

Women Writers Over 50…Dvora’s Biography

Dvora Swickle lives in the quaint fishing village of Gig Harbor, Washington. There the grass is green, the trees are tall, and the animals roam freely. Dvora believes that all children’s should live bully free and learn confidence in there own special ways. My stories are like a box of cracker jacks, a lovely reading experience with a message inside just for them to grow on. In this day we are all going in so many directions it’s hard to stop and give advice, sometimes advice is not wanted. Kids like to think they know it all but we know that is impossible, for experience is the gift of learning. Come and join Dvora as she tells her many tales. Her words will follow you all through your life!
Dvora Swickle (AKA D.A. Johnson) has been entertaining and writing for children (and her two kids) for over 20 years. Dvora drove school bus for 10 years enjoys reading in school classrooms. She has a captivating voice. Dvora now works with special needs children and is devoted to helping students 18 to 21 transition from high school into the work community and living independently.
Stories can help students understand problems without feeling it is directed towards them personally. Dvora enjoys reading and putting fun voices to her characters, inviting children to take part. Every time she reads “sweet green grass” kids are encouraged to raise there hands. Dvora loves seeing all the fingers in the air, makes her feel so appreciated and loved.
She has written over 40 stories and is the author of two poetry collections. The first poetry collection “Dress Up” is available in paperback. The second collection “Kittywampus” is available in eBook format. Dvora encourages young children to develop a life-long love for language and reading. She believes that poetry can play a big role in motivating children to read. “Poetry helps young readers understand language, words and feelings through rhythm and rhyme.
Children feel comfortable with poems because it’s like playtime with words.”
Dvora’s motto is T.T.R.A.B, “Time To Read Another Book”.

Vive la difference, Dvora! Thank you for your gentle stories.

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When did you decide you wanted to be a writer?

A long time ago, its seems I fell in love with movies. They were sort of babysitters for us kids. We would go at 9:00 a.m. and get picked up at 3:00 p.m.  I was so amazed at the ideas all the producers and writers created. Being a very imaginative child I would come up with my own ideas for stories and movies.

When I told people I wanted to be a writer I learned it meant you had to be good in school:   To be able to memorize great passages of people of the past to have a big vocabulary that amazed everyone around you.

I had none of these qualities.  Having learning disabilities,  I tended to see things differently. I read with little comprehension so instead I would just make it up as I went.

So I didn’t fall in the right format, wasn’t writer material, I guess.  I believed only students with A’s that amazed the teachers were the ones lucky enough to be noticed and helped.  No matter how I tried, I was considered,” she just doesn’t apply herself.”

My mother did not read nursery rhymes or stories to us as youngsters, so I really didn’t get into books, but music was another subject. I couldn’t memorize the lyrics but that didn’t matter because I never quite heard the words right anyway.  So I became funny and a comedian… that worked for me. Deep down inside though, I was hurt, baffled. I felt as if I had been gypped somewhere down the line.

What or who inspired you to write?

I wrote good lyrics for bands, my abstract talent seemed to give me an edge. But when I gave birth to my daughter, my Mother in-law played with my baby girl in a way I had never seen before. They laughed and giggled together as if she knew her all along. I was amazed at how she knew what to do. It brought tears to my eyes, because I felt out of place and lost. Well,  as I watched my mother-in-law and with her gentle teaching,  I grew stronger and less fearful of trying to entertain in a way I had never done before.

Soon I started reading books, not well at first but that did not matter. The smile from my daughter gave me the confidence to be me.  I didn’t have to impress anyone, just exist.

Then it happened, I began reading with voices and acting with my expressions and found I was pretty good at it.

What do you hope to accomplish with your writing?

What I wish to accomplish is to give confidence to someone who feels out of place. To give confidence to someone who feels different… a small gentle boy or girl with a question they feel is too dumb.

I asked so many as a kid and heard this in response…”Think about it! That is dumb question.  Common sense, it just common sense.”

Yes, most is easy, but when you are a bit different with a quality of seeing life in a different view, sometimes seeing what others see is hard.  I find I think so out of the box,that my stories are that way. They step out of the box to talk about the simple, easy, should- of- figured- out- yourself kind of stuff.  I write about how friendship works, how to say you’resorry and how to let someone who maybe can’t… think they can… in loving way.  I want to encourage a child who feels left out because they have memorizing problems, a child who does not speak right.

I want children learning to say, “I did it, I am sorry.” Then really be forgiven. Give girls the little bit of confidence that beauty is skin deep and with age with your beauty really will show. Know that in time, hurt will pass but to keep the loving memories golden in your heart. Just because one is bigger and better than the smaller and thinner that they can become the King as well. That’s another story too.

What is your favorite part…(paragraph…page…line) from one of your books?

“He shook it again and it snowed even more, then off Ollie floated around in the globe, ending up where he began, back to dear Norman’s home. Diamonds floating and bobbing about, twinkling, sparkling in sweet Norma’s eyes.”

page 115 in the story, The Legend of Santa Owl.

What have you learned from writing?

That perfection is in the eyes of the beholder. As I may not pass an adult test, even to this day, I do and will pass in a child’s eye. For children still have the gift of creating, understanding of imperfections, seeing the feelings of stuffed animals and pictures, giving love when most have forgotten, and seeing everything that goes around them with two understanding theirs and the world around them.

I try not to put ideas in these brave young brains but to give them confidence and words to stand tall when they need them, to be expressive and speak their feelings proactively with confidence and clarity.

 

What are you working on now…or what is your next writing project?

I am working on a story of a boy in a wheel chair. It’s about how he comes to learn confidence, give back strength in words without anger…How to make small kids feel stronger, work toward goals he has set forth for himself with the help of a friend he meets in school… Taking bully girls, nick picky boys and then dreaming about his life as a real sherriff in the town of ‘Ever So Fyne Mudd.’ Its an amazing story and all I want to do in this story is to show confidence, entertain, teach without shoving rules down their throats, but giving morals with a gentle breeze in words.

I want to encourage children to find strength where they didn’t know they had it. To show that maybe God gave you that quirky little bits and pieces just for you and the plan is always there, just sometimes takes time to find it, snivel, snivel, snort!

Visit Dvora’s author page on Amazon. And while you’re there, buy some of her books to give the unique and special children you know!

Writing Boomer Lit … Life After 50

 

I write Boomer Lit.

I write Boomer Lit.

Boomer Lit.Last week I discovered there is a name for what I do. It’s called writing boomer lit. I really like that what I do finally has a name.  Now I have a genre. I’m not a romance writer, a mystery writer, an essayist. I’m a Boomer Lit writer.

 

 

What is Boomer Lit?

Boomer lit is a whole new genre that’s just come into being recently. Since the Baby Boomers have turned 50 and older, we’ve demanded stories that focus on us…our problems, our loves, our desires, our dreams, our…well, our selves.

Our Boomer generation, born between 1946 and 1964, may not the Greatest Generation, but we are darn sure an interesting generation. And apparently we like to read and write about ourselves so much that we’ve created a whole new genre in literature. All for us and all about us!

We Boomers are so self-absorbed and interested in ourselves that we had to create a whole new area in the book store devoted just to us. I say…Bully for the Boomers! (In case you’re too young to know…bully is sometimes used to denote good stuff, like when Teddy Roosevelt said “bully!”)

Why I’m Writing Boomer Lit

I started writing this Boomer Lit a couple of years ago when I grew tired of reading about fictional and real people having crises when they turned 40.

In both fiction and nonfiction literature, it seemed that anyone over 40 was truly over the hill. Life for anyone over 40 was meaningless. And I knew that was a crock of lies. Because here I was over 50, living a pretty good, meaningful, exciting life and expecting Life to just get better as I aged.

In typical Boomer fashion, I believe Life is about the journey and not the destination. So quieten the whining and get on with your journey.

I had already lived through these so-called crises. I just wanted good stories. Spare me the hand-wringing details.

So, since I couldn’t find any characters I could admire and emulate who were my age and not a bunch of whining youngsters with problems with their marriages and their self-images and their lipstick shade and their changing hormones…Well, I just made up my own characters and started writing about them.

My first novel in the Boomer Lit genre is The Big 5-0. It features those 50-something characters that are so like my friends and me. It is the first in a series of Matilda Mason Mysteries. It will be out soon in both paperback and e-book.

I’ve already written and published a book of essays, Fifty Odd: Viewing Life After 50 Through Rose-Colored Bifocals, and a comic book of wittiness, Square Peg’s Words of Wisdom.  They’re in paperback and e-book versions as well.

( Follow the links and buy them please! Help support this old Boomer!)

I wanted to read about people who have been there, done that, and are still there and doing that, or have learned from it and are doing something different. We Boomers have lived through a lot of history together. Good stuff, bad stuff…we’ve been through it together. Those young people just don’t understand.

Boomer Lit. Boomer Lit. Boomer Lit. I just keep repeating that term.

Finally…my baloney has a first name! I’m so glad to hear it! I’m finally part of a group!

And I’m pretty sure that it’s marketable. I’m not the only Boomer out here that wants to read and write Boomer Lit…and read and write about characters and people who are just like us. We want validation.

When I started writing Boomer Lit, I thought I was unique. I thought I was a pioneer in the field, cutting away through the thick undergrowth of chick lit and young adult lit and new adult lit to find a place where I could settle. And now it turns out that I’m not alone! Yea! I have found my village.

You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one…so to speak. And where there’s a dreamer…there’s a market for their products!

Buy Boomer Lit

Here’s links to my books….just so you can start your Boomer Lit collection now.  Oh, come on…you know you want to read it!

 Fifty Odd: Viewing Life After 50 Through Rose-Colored Glasses

Soft Cover

E-Book

Square Peg’s Words of Wisdom

Soft Cover

E-Book

 

Boomer LIt

Home For Sale By Owner…Life after 50

Home For Sale By Owner. I never thought I would put that sign in front of my house. But I did. I put it in my front yard yesterday, in fact.

 

It’s a red and white sign that says For Sale By Owner. I added the Home part.

If you’re interested…it’s 1400 sq. ft., 3 bedrooms, 1.5 baths, dining room, updated kitchen, central heat & air, hardwood floors, lot size 51 ft. x 150 ft. That’s the house part…you have to add the love that makes it a home. I’m taking mine with me.

“All I ever wanted was a little white house with a white picket fence with two little boys to play in the yard”….that’s a line from a long, depressing poem I wrote several years ago. You don’t want to read the rest of the poem…I promise you that!

Anyway, it’s always been important to me to have a home where my children could be. Where they could play safely in their own yard, where they could splash in mud puddles and play with the water hose, where they could sit in their sandbox and have an afternoon snack of Graham crackers and purple Kool-Aid, where they could play in the living room in the evening after supper and then have a warm bath and a bedtime story before being tucked into bed.

That was my dream…always. And parts of it came true. I have precious memories of riding dinosaurs and digging in the dirt with my kids in our own backyard, of snuggling in the rocking chair to read a story.

But now…everyone is grown up and gone. My house is too big. I ramble around in it, going from room to room with no true purpose…looking for things I’ve lost. And my backyard seems awfully empty even though I attempt to raise vegetables and flowers back there.

So now… it’s Home For Sale By Owner. And that’s OK.

Things have changed. Life has changed. I have changed. And it’s time to let go of this dream and follow another one.

One thing I have learned in Life is that homes are not made of brick and mortar, boards and shingles. They are made of love. And home is always where your heart is. My heart doesn’t reside here now.

It’s time for a family to move into this house and make it their home. It’s time for some other family to hang their heart here. The welcome mat is out…and I’m waiting for them to arrive so I can hand them the key to the front door.

So now the sign in my front yard says it all…Home For Sale By Owner. I hope the new owners will love this place as much as I did.

(By the way…it’s time for this Grandma to get an RV and travel her dreams, so don’t worry about me! I’m just taking my heart on the road and will hang it somewhere else. )

Imagine Peace…Grandmothers Unite

Imagine Peace…Grandmothers and Weary Mothers Unite

On March 11, 2012 an American soldier allegedly massacred 16 Afghan citizens, nine of whom were children. Six other civilians were wounded in the attack.

On March 12, 2012 I was taking a spring vacation in Tyler, Texas. The azaleas were ready to burst into bloom and the town was preparing for the Azalea Festival scheduled for the last weekend of the month.

I was quite content and ready to enjoy my stay:  wandering around the town, shopping at the thrift store, looking at antiques, walking through the parks and gardens there. Everything was beautiful in East Texas that week.

Life seemed especially good.

I was safe. My children were safe.  My grandchildren were safe at home with their parents. I could imagine them wearing their warm little jammies, being tucked into bed by their mamas and daddies, being read a story before going to sleep, feeling safe in their own little beds.

My grand-babies are  more precious than gold or all the possessions on Earth to me.

One morning I picked up a USA Today in the hotel lobby. I bought a snack from the vending machine and went to my room. Then I looked at the newspaper.

On the front page was a photograph of a grandmother from Kandahar, Afghanistan. She was sitting in the back of a truck, with her hand extended toward the body of her grandchild. The child was dressed in red pajamas, having been tucked safely into bed perhaps by the grandmother, before being pulled from bed and shot during the midnight attack of a soldier.

On the grandmother’s face was the shock and weariness of a grief that was only just beginning. I could imagine her pain.

USA Today story and photograph

There are other things I can imagine about this woman and her grandchild. I imagine that she told this little child bedtime stories just as I do for my grandchildren.

I imagine that her grandchild ran to her and hugged her around her legs whenever he saw her. Just as my grandchildren do. I imagine her grandchild’s little arms reaching up to her, asking for her embrace. Just as my grandchildren do.

Did she teach her grandchild little silly songs? Did they plant a garden together? Did she carry sweet treats in her pocket to give to her grand-baby? I imagine that she did, just as I do with my grandchildren.

I imagine that this grandmother wanted more for this child. I imagine that she wanted safety, freedom, security for her grandchild, just as I do for mine.

Then I think about the grandmother of the man who massacred these children. I imagine that she is grief-stricken and hurting, too. This is not what she wanted for her grandchild. I know it’s not. I imagine that she did the same things that the Afghan grandmother and I do for ours. I’m positive that she wanted safety, freedom, and security for her grandson.

It’s easy for us to imagine us all to be different. It’s easy for us to think that a color or a religion or a nationality makes one person less precious than another, to think that other people in war-torn lands are used to the grief and that their loss is less than our own.

But that’s not true. All grandmothers are alike…and all our grandchildren are precious. I imagine we all grieve the same.

I’d like to think that grandmothers could be the solution to the problems of hate, prejudice, violence, and war. I’d like to imagine that, banded together, we could all say: “Fuck war. Stop it. We demand that our children and grandchildren live in peace.” I’d like to imagine peace for all of them, worldwide.

One year later, this grandmother’s face haunts me still. I imagine it always will.

 Listen to The Weary Mothers of the Earth, by Joan Baez.

From Wikipedia:

“The Kandahar massacre, also known as the Panjwai Massacre,[1] occurred in the early hours of 11 March 2012, when sixteen civilians were killed and six others wounded in the Panjwayi District of Kandahar Province, Afghanistan. Nine of the victims were children, and eleven of the dead were from the same family. Some of the corpses were partially burned. United States Army Staff Sergeant Robert Bales was taken into custody and charged with 17 counts of premeditated murder and six counts of assault and attempted murder. The charge was later reduced to 16 counts, due to the double counting of one victim.”

You may say I’m a dreamer. But I pray to God that I’m not the only one. Imagine peace for our children and grandchildren.

My Hero: Rep. Susan Brooks, Freshman Congresswoman

Rep. Susan Brooks (R-IN)

I have a new hero. Her name is Rep. Susan Brooks. She is a freshman Congresswoman in the U.S. House of Representatives. She is a Republican from Indiana.

 

I, on the other hand, am a Democrat from Texas. Yet, she represents me quite well in Congress. She represents the human interest rather than political interests.

What makes Rep. Susan Brooks so special in my eyes? She voted against party lines to approve the Violence Against Women Act. She voted FOR the VAWA in the interest of her constituents…the people she represents.

That vote may have cost Rep. Susan Brooks something regarding her own political interests. But she did it anyway. She did the right thing.

Watch the video of Rep. Susan Brook addressing the House of Representatives on this bill. I think you will be as impressed as I am. Click Here for Video

Although I am from Texas, Rep. Susan Brooks represents me far better than my own elected (although not by my vote) representative, Mac Thornberry, a Republican from Texas.

Thornberry voted along party lines, of course, and voted against the VAWA. He voted in favor of his own political interests and voted against funding for counseling, shelters, and prosecution of domestic violence. He voted against victims of domestic violence. Yeah…he did. He voted that Native American women on reservations, immigrant women, and gay/lesbian/transgender people should get no help for domestic violence. Not by government funded agencies anyway….

I will have to move from Texas to Indiana if I want to be represented by my representative.

Here’s the press release from Rep. Susan Brooks’s office about her vote. It recaps the vote far better than I can.

______________________________________

Brooks Lauds Reauthorization of VAWA

Feb 28, 2013

Press Release

Takes to Floor in Support of Legislation

U.S. Congresswoman Susan W. Brooks (R-IN) took to the House Floor today urging members of Congress to reauthorize the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA). WATCH VIDEO.

“This bill is not a perfect bill. No bill that Congress passes is perfect,” Brooks said. “But I will tell you the victims being attacked can’t wait for perfect. The three women and the one man who die every day at hands of their intimate partners cannot wait for perfect.”

Following today’s floor debate, the House of Representatives reauthorized VAWA in a bi-partisan fashion by passing the Senate’s version of the bill. VAWA was also reauthorized in 2000 and 2005 and the last reauthorization expired in 2011.

“We as member(s) of Congress have the ability to give control back to the victims, to give control to the cops, to give control to the sexual assault nurses, to give control to the victim advocates, to give some to the shelters and the counselors,” Brooks explained. “I’m asking this Congress to show the American people that we care. I do. Please pass this bill.”  

VAWA was originally passed in 1994 as Title IV of the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act and provides grants supporting efforts to break the cycle of domestic violence in communities across the nation. VAWA funds assist first responder and sexual assault nurse training, domestic violence centers, victim advocates and counselors around the country.  

To watch video of the Congresswoman’s remarks, click here. 

For more on Congresswoman Susan W. Brooks, please visit www.SusanWBrooks.house.gov.