November Writing by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

Here’s a bit of advice: when you have a blog to post, don’t start reading a new book!

I’d like to apologize for not posting two weeks ago. I wrenched my back, and I couldn’t sit up. Have you ever tried to type lying down? Not happening. Unless you want to hunt and peck, which certainly isn’t the way I was taught to type way back in my school days.

And not being able to sit up was nothing compared to not being able to stay awake, which was how I was after the doctor prescribed a muscle relaxer.

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it or not, but extra-strength Tylenol can put me to sleep, at least for a little while; give me something stronger, and I’m down for the count! I spent most of last week sleeping... well, like a cat.

If you don’t know, cats can sleep up to eighteen hours a day.

So, sleeping that much last week meant I had a lot of company while doing it. Right now, I think poor Patches is wondering why I’m not sleeping as much anymore.

I’m not sleeping as much because I got too much last week!

Anyway, the good news is my back is back to normal.

The bad news is that it’s already the nineteenth of November, and I’ve managed like ten hours of writing. My goal for the month was to write for a total of 125 hours, or 5 hours 6 days a week. (I rest on the Sabbath.)

Yeah, I am not going to make it.

I can get some more work done, but I won’t make my goal.

Which would be better than the year when I ended up with a concussion on the 8^th of November, and that year I’d made the goal of 50K words for the month.

By the way, the website for National Novel Writer’s month may be defunct, but there are local groups who are continuing the challenge.

For me, the local group is backed by my local library, and they allow you to make a word count or time goal for the month. Hence, my goal of 125 hours this month. They also allow you to work on a new or current WIP.

But considering I was unable to type for several days because of back pain, and then mostly unconscious for another week, I haven’t managed much. Oh, well.

I did manage some tweaks to one of my stories, but about the time I got to the section that needed major work and a ton of “tweaks,” my back gave out.

And, like I said when our cousin Steve asked what I did to my back, “I haven’t the foggiest.”

It just started hurting, and it got worse and worse until I gave up and called the doctor.

I mean, really, if Tylenol and my trusty heating pad weren’t cutting it, I needed stronger help!

Too bad stronger help means practically comatose for me.

Konnie is lucky she doesn’t have my sensitivity to certain medications. She can take stuff I can’t.

She can take Tylenol and not fall asleep.

And I should have taken Tylenol last night. Except I wasn’t in enough pain for Tylenol, I just couldn’t sleep. And believe me, with how well Tylenol puts me to sleep, I don’t dare try something stronger!

And Tylenol will only put me out for a couple of hours. For more shuteye, I’d have to combine Tylenol, melatonin, and a mug of Sleepy Time Tea to get that effect. And again, not enough pain to warrant Tylenol.

A brain that doesn’t want to quit or a story you can’t wait to know the ending of isn’t painful, just time-consuming.

Such is the life of someone on the spectrum.

I guess the good thing I can say is that while I was awake this past week, I did some reading. Slow going with how much I was sleeping, but well, with me, it’s slow going anyhow. So, who cares?

I couldn’t write. I couldn’t even think enough to write. Writing definitely takes more brain power than reading. Unless, of course, you’re reading a textbook or Shakespeare. Both of which I have done.

I mean, I did graduate from high school, and I took some college courses. I even took a course on Shakespeare!

Then again, I was rather good at translating the Old English into modern language.

I remember one time my fellow students were trying to figure out what was being said, and I translated it before the professor could.

I just thought they weren’t using all their brain cells; it’s still English!

Okay, yeah, maybe I’m weird!

And yes, I like Shakespeare.

Anyway, happy writing, everyone!

Of Conversations and Responsibilities by Konnie Enos

With two adult kids still living at home we, meaning my kids and I, sometimes get into these long conversations that cover a large variety of topics in conversations that can last hours. And I mean hours. Last time I think we sat around the kitchen table talking for two or three hours. We only ended the conversation because I seriously was no longer comfortable. Seriously, dining room chairs are not designed for anybody as height challenged as I am.

So, our conversations often end because I needed to get to a more comfortable place.

Now back to the conversations, specifically our last one.

I’m not going to pretend to remember what started the whole thing, it was probably just the three of us all being in the kitchen at the same time. I’m also not going to pretend that I know how we segued to this topic, I just know we did.

The topic in question was who in our household of four was responsible for which specific tasks/chores.

I said (more or less), “I’m just the CFO.” Which is accurate since I pay all the bills and track all the money. It’s my main chore, partially because I can do it sitting down, and mostly because I know accounting. (I did minor in it.)

Without missing a beat, my daughter said, “Well, if you’re CFO then I’m the CEO.”

Okay, very fair observation. Even down to the point what she says usually goes. I mean dear husband and I can countermand her but what usually happens is I countermand him and back her up. Mostly because what he wants is too expensive, often massively so.

Well since she established her role I decided that my son had to have a role and gave it some thought. My first thought was CIO, chief information officer, and that’s what I said at the time, but I’ve since figured out that his role is CTO, chief technology officer. I even gave him an official company shirt for his last birthday. It reads, “I’m my families unpaid tech support.”

Well, with our roles firmly established we then tried to figure out what my husband’s role was in this household.

I mean he has some pull because he can tell us to do things, but we can all countermand him when what he wants just isn’t possible. But he is also not specifically responsible for anything. My kids and I divvy up the chores based on skills and current abilities.

Which means my daughter does the lion’s share of them unless she’s having a flair, or it’s that time of the month, or most recently, she broke something, like a rib. (Believe me it’s worse when she gets hit with more than one thing at a time.)

When she’s down for the count, my son has to do her chores that I physically cannot do. Or I have to convince my husband to do them. Either that or they don’t get done until she’s better.

Anyway, we couldn’t come up with anything, but I finally pointed out that most of our household income is from him, and it pays all the bills.

My son finally said, “Then he’s the clueless investor.”

I nearly cracked up. But you know, it is still a very accurate description.

I love the man but most days he has absolutely no clue what is going on around here. I mean, between my son, daughter and I we told him at least twice each (I did three times) that our daughter currently has a broken rib before it actually registered with him.

Of course, once he figured it out, he asked a bunch of questions. “How did it happen?”

Daughter’s answer. “The same way it always happens. I moved or something.”

“Shouldn’t she see a doctor.”

Daughter’s answer. “Why? They’re going to tell me exactly the same thing they’ve said every other time this happened. Which is rest, don’t lift anything heavy.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

Daughter again, “Exactly what we are doing.” This being her brother is doing the heavy lifting and any chores she physically can’t do, like those that require bending.

And yes, she has done this before, probably because she has EDS. And yes, all the doctors ever said was that it’s broken, and rest. So yes, she knows exactly what she’s experiencing and she’s slowly healing, right on schedule, getting better. But her brother is annoyed having to lift the cast iron pan for her. I sure can’t do it. It’s heavy.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Sorry by Konnie Enos

I have not been feeling well for the last few days, so I went to bed last night earlier than I normally do quite confident in the fact that I did not have to write a post this morning. Then woke up this morning to find that an hour after I went to bed, Bonnie texted me that she was not able to write the post this week.

I am not prepared to write a post this morning, mostly because I’m still sick, but unlike Bonnie, I can sit up. And, unfortunately, sitting up is necessary in order to type, at least on a keyboard.

Considering my already packed morning, I can only say, sorry, but we aren’t posting this week.

Of Gratitude, Kindness and Happiness by Konnie Enos

Sunday at church, one of the ladies mentioned gratitude journals. Now I’d heard of them but wasn’t exactly sure how you’re supposed to utilize them. She mentioned the idea was to list three things each day, for a month, that you’re grateful for.

Considering November (the month of gratitude) starts this week I thought she was trying to encourage us to keep such a journal between now and Thanksgiving.

But then she changed the subject.

She started asking others how they felt when they did acts of service. She was focusing on how good you feel when you do things to help, or lift, someone else.

It didn’t take long for me to begin wondering what acts of service had to do with gratitude journals. And I might have pondered that question further but by that point they’d began listing things they could do in service to others.

My mind immediately went to the big things people do but no one mentioned volunteering at a care center or animal shelter. Not one person mentioned reading to the blind or helping with a cleaning up a public space, or our church building. Not one big grand act of service even though I’m sure all of them could come up with some.

I could come up with a long list of things they could have listed but instead of thinking about what those might be, I focused on the things they were mentioning.

Things like smiling or saying hi to someone. Calling a friend, just to talk. Sending a card or note to someone. Actively listening when someone wants to talk to you.

Things you can do every single day.

Things that are small, and easy to do.

Things that don’t come with fan fair or awards but can seriously brighten someone else’s day. It wasn’t a list of services rendered so much as it was list of kindnesses given.

Finally, I was wondering again why she’d mentioned gratitude journals than went off on the tangent of acts of service, or kindness.

The conversation itself wasn’t very long, probably about ten minutes, but it was only at the end that she finally said why she’d mentioned the gratitude journals.

She wondered, if possibly, instead of focusing on what you are grateful for in a gratitude journal, if perhaps we could focus on our three acts of service/kindness each day. Not only what they were, but how they made us feel.

So, I’ve been contemplating what she said since then.

Since, in the U.S. we celebrate Thanksgiving in November, it’d be an obvious time to keep a gratitude journal. But December comes right after November.

December, when we celebrate the birth of Christ.

A time when we are often asked to contemplate what gift we can give Christ for his birthday. The most often mentioned gift to give Christ is our acts of service/kindness.

Now this lady was talking about doing a kindness log rather than a gratitude journal, but I’ve been thinking about something a bit different.

You see, science has shown that being grateful increases your happiness just as being kind increases your happiness.

So, wouldn’t expressing your gratitude AND showing kindness work together to increase your happiness?

I mean we could just focus on gratitude in November and kindness in December, but what if we did both, each month?

What if, for two whole months, we worked on showing three acts of kindness to others every day? And what if while we also thought about three things we were grateful for?

How much happier would we each be for being so grateful, and for showing such kindness? How much happiness could we each spread out into the world by doing this?

Me personally, I probably won’t write down, or even track anything, but I think just making the effort to show kindness, and expressing my gratitude daily would be just as effective.

But mostly I’ve been thinking about service/kindness is a very simple thing. As simple as smiling. Just smiling.

As I say at the end of all my posts, “Smile. Make the day a brighter day.”

I’m not asking you to keep a gratitude journal, or a kindness log, or even both. Any of which would be a good thing to do. But I think contemplating on what we are grateful for and showing our gratitude through service/kindness to others would be a way to lift not only our spirits, but those of the people around us too.

So, all I’m asking is be mindful of your gratitude and the kindness you give.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Nostalgia by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

I am on the spectrum, as such I have always had trouble when other people get facts wrong. (I have been berated often for correcting people and can think of once or twice when I had to bite my tongue at church because someone got a Bible fact wrong.)

That said, I refuse to bite my tongue this time.

Lately, I’ve seen a ton of posts about how kids were allowed to roam all over town in the 60s, 70s, and the 80s, and didn’t have to be home until the streetlights came on. Um, the 60s and 70s absolutely, but not the 80s. By the 80s there was too many child abductions, too many child murders.

I know this because I lived it.

Did I wander around the neighborhood and even the town until dark? Heck, considering how soon it gets dark around here during the fall and winter, I stayed out until after dark! I mean what kind of kid wants to call it a night at 4:30 or 5 in the evening if they don’t have to? And we didn’t have to.

Admittedly a lot of our friends did, but most of them had stay-at-home moms fixing meals they were expected to show up for and eat. But back in the early 70s, the number of single moms was clearly the minority in the neighborhood.

By 1975, when the oldest of our half brothers was born, single moms had become common enough that the term latchkey children came into use and school districts all around the country were instituting after school programs to “help” those single moms and eliminate those latchkey children.

Konnie and I, as well as our older sister and the oldest of our brothers (the only full brother) were all latchkey children. Ben never was.

Our youngest brother came along in 79 and our oldest niece came in 80, and neither of them were ever left without supervision because long before they came along the news was full of stories of kids being abducted, abused, and murdered.

Actually, the last time I went trick or treating as a child was 1973. And even then, that year there were warnings against kids entering homes of people they didn’t know. (We were told not to enter any stranger’s homes, but we were not told to only go to the homes of people we knew well.) And still the news after Halloween was of kids finding razor blades or needles in their apples.

When Halloween 1974 came some nutcase has threatened to poison candy all over the country, and most people found alternatives to going door to door as well as insisted on giving out only individually wrapped store bought candy.

Nothing homemade and no fresh or candied apples.

Also, hospitals were allowing kids to bring their loot in to have it X-rayed for metal, while parents were told to inspect all pieces of candy for damage to the wrapper, and throw out anything with damaged wrappers.

The world had become a scary place for kids. That was sure, but the 80s had gotten worse. By 1981, I went with our stepmother (I think Konnie went too) to the local elementary school to get McGruff Identikits for Ben, Dan, and Patty and fill them out. That’s how bad the child abduction problem was. Schools were giving out special kits to store a current picture, description, and even a lock of hair of each child. They also had fingerprinting, which is why the little ones went with us.

So, I promise that kids were not allowed to wander the neighborhood unsupervised in the 80s, at least not like when we were younger.

I mean I remember at 12 riding my bike across town, entering the BAR where our mother worked, and got some cash off her then went to the theater up the street and watched a movie that gave me nightmares for weeks. All by myself.

Actually, that was only about halfway across town, I more often road all the way to the pool, which was clear across town.

From when we were 12 on, I don’t remember once having a babysitter, and well, even before that, we played outside with the babysitter’s boys until well after dark most nights, and only part of the time was their daddy playing with us when we were out there.

Today, a 12 year old wouldn’t be allowed to go trick or treating without adult supervision. In 1973 the oldest kid in our group was 12, and the youngest was like 7, and yet we went without adult supervision.

So, I promise, kids did not get to wander free in the 80s, at least not as free as we wandered in the 70s.

Anyway, happy writing everyone.