Reading, writing...that's what I do.

Yes, HOMES SWEET HOMES

John and I have moved…often…first the tiny honeymoon apartment with only two small bedrooms, so that no one ever expected we would ask them to STAY OVER.

Then the large brand-new, out in the middle-of-nowhere home, when you get to pick the wall colors, the carpeting, the type of cabinets…but when you finally arrive with your humble possessions, there is only dirt for a lawn…and of course, NEVER EVER TREES.

THUS, your relatives all arrive with the same comment: “We had to stop at the general store for refreshment so we could finish the trip.” But they bring gifts, hug you and rarely return.

Yes, life can be awesome, we being young and in love, despite having been raised in an older and well-loved  Chicago neighborhood, with its mature trees, aging elegant homes and the ability to WALK everywhere….yes this is fine, we love our new place. Until our first child arrives….and changes have been made, the expansive land right behind us now graced with a grade school, and the land right up against our backyard fence now hosting a BALL FIELD!

Oh, and yes, people park right by our driveway, WALK through our yard with their picnic baskets and cans of beer. Even a fence does not stop them. They climb the fence. 

But winter is quiet, then spring gets more noisy, and one day a kid golfing off the park grass hits his ball right  through our kitchen window…our daughter Caroline sitting in her high chair. Thank God, the ball misses her. WE PUT THE HOUSE ON THE MARKET.

And life, thankfully, goes on…a lovely  cape-cod closer to Chicago…cosy and welcoming for two more children, Christie, then Andrew. We even have an apple tree in the back yard and a magnolia in the front.

But then, because we are outgrowing this charmer, we buy a bigger home, one that needs LOTS OF WORK. And thats okay. We’re excited. We find and hire plumbers, painters, plasterers. We know a great guy who will mow the weeds, help me create a garden. Thus, this house that was an eyesore now becomes a new beauty in Flossmoor, an upscale neighborhood bordering where we used to live. And bonus: this home provides an even  closer walk to John’s commuter train. 

And then one lovely evening after the move, I am excited to be in the the local paint store with my younger daughter Christie, the two of us looking at wallpaper samples, buying paint, then standing in line to pay.

But there is a woman, how fun a new neighbor, who taps me on the shoulder, asks if I am truly the owner of the house at the corner of Marston Lane. YES, I say with a big smile, waiting for her to complement me on our amazing changes, how much we have added to the neighborhood. 

“Oh, I know the house,” she says. “You’ve got that bush that always hangs over the sidewalk.”

WHAT? Christie looks up at me. I face forward, say nothing to this WOMAN!!  We pay our bill, leave the store. And yes, this WAS the most up-scale area we had ever lived in. And yes, this woman was the exception.

But you never truly forget those things. If we had NOT totally redone the home, then yes, she would have a point to make. And she might even have said: GLAD YOU ARE PLANNING TO MAKE CHANGES …or joked about the bush. But no.

All of this is to tell you that homes are wonderful, neighborhoods are fascinating, but it is OUR FAMILIES and how they are growing, becoming that should always be our first concern. And yes, we clipped the damn bush, then later moved to Iowa, then to California.

Now back in Chicago, in the neighborhood where we were both born and raised…this weekend, we celebrate our wedding anniversary!! That is what matters…and we are so blessed! Thanks for reading.

Photo: the house that once had THE BUSH. 

Review of: HEART THE LOVER by Lilly King

BOTTOM LINE: I Loved this book.

I had read Writers and Lovers, found it wandered a bit. And thus it took me a long time to finish.

Not so with Heart The Lover.

From the delightful bright cover and through all the pages, King moves along, and we readers are right with her.

YES, there are once again lots of names. But this time she handles them well…..we know who the MC is…Jordan, whose real name is Casey!! Oh well.

But this is a book of love, sex, feelings and best of all, GROWTH.

Jordan has her flings, but then becomes an adult with a husband and twins. And yes, she cannot forget the passion of her past….she can feel it still living inside her when she thinks of Yash, who then becomes the character King must sacrifice.

I get it. She is presenting THE YOUNG, THE STRONG, THE  SMART. But life is life, and though Jordan finds a quieter existence with her husband, Sam, the burning experience with Yash is always there, such an amazing time with him, and so hard to reconcile when she learns Yash is dying.

I kept reading. I was there during the sorrow, during the loss. I found the intensity of the writing well done. And once again, the cover of the novel is delightful: flowers, tears, a kiss….if you have a copy, please keep reading. If you do not, consider this for a one night experience. The story moves…gives the reader only what is necessary, and her word choice….often poetic. ALL IN ALL….It’s a keeper. 

Age Is Not a Measure…but an Attitude and a Decision

It is amazing to talk to people who are truly alive, eager, engaged and doing so many things. It’s called living and it has nothing to do with age.

But it definitely is connected to appreciating life, to seeing every day as an adventure. And yes, some days are easier to make that vibe work than others. Because there are other days when we might want to stay in bed, forget what lies ahead…chores, appointments we would rather miss, difficult phone calls we must make…etc.

Today I am angry with myself because I lifted a piece of furniture I had no business lifting…and now something in my lower back is compressed, and I have tingling in my legs. Will it go away? Yes, over time, and if I behave myself, do my stretching, my back exercises. BUT I KNOW BETTER.

And now I can’t call my brother Bill and confess. I confessed to my husband…he just shakes his head. WILL I EVER LEARN?

Maybe. I can be compulsive about decisions and thus fail to WAIT.

But is that not a common trait, a fault in many of us?

Even as children, we got into trouble BECAUSE WE COULD NOT WAIT.

But BETH, you are now an adult who has had MANY MANY episodes of PT, physical therapy. SO WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?

ANSWER: I wasn’t thinking. I was in the ZONE. I had these things I thought I needed to do and I was not considering anything else. SO….maybe a lesson was learned: when you think furniture needs to be moved….make sure you have help. AFTER ALL….you have been there before. Remember???

Yes, I remember. And yet this is me…I get in a groove and I keep going. And it works if I am in the garden and pulling weeds. But I have to admit, it does not always work if I am moving furniture. 

SO WHY HAVE A PHOTO OF YOUR BROTHER BILL AND YOUR HUSBAND JOHN ON THIS POST?

Because. 

TWO PEOPLE I LOVE, TWO REASONS, TWO ANSWERS….

If Bill were still here, I could call him and confess, and he would tell me no big deal….he would move right along about something wonderful that I DID DO. 

On the other had, John has already listened, frowned, let me know that I did this to myself, and of course should not have. AND HE IS RIGHT. I should not be moving furniture with the BACK HISTORY I have. 

Botton line…we all need a Bill and a John in our lives. (I am fortunate to have two Johns, my  husband and my brother John….who I think would remind me gently to be more careful. But who would also be very understanding and very forgiving.)

So again, AGE IS NOT A MEASURE, but it can become an attitude, a decision: I need to hold back, be more careful when I think something heavy needs to be moved, remember my history.

AND I truly know in this moment that Bill would say…It’s okay Bethie…just make sure for the next time and always take care of yourself.  Oh I promise….I will. 

I Can Do The Tricky Stuff

We all plan our lives to some degree. Plan our children’s lives. We are not gifted with seeing into the future, but as we age we often THINK we know best. And thankfully, we are often right. 

And yet there are also surprises. One of my favorites involves my own dear mother, Jinni, a widow with we three children, who often would show us the thumb on her left hand, indicating that it was not easy to move her dictates to us, not easy for us to have our way….but sometimes. Because….

My younger brother Bill wanted to get into the music business right after college, Jinni finally agreeing to part of his goal….flying to LA. Because yes, her brother Chuck and her sister-in-law Imelda lived there. So Bill could try to get into the music business, and then later simply fly back home.

But later never happened. Imelda had a neighbor, right across the street on Clump Avenue (the street name always drove her crazy) who worked in the LA music business. A meeting was set up, Bill got an entry level position, and then because he was Bill who knew what he wanted, and because he worked like crazy in that first position, and then the second etc, he soon could claim and exceed every aspect of his dream. AND THE REST IS HISTORY, Bill’s history.

I think all of us, if we tried, could look back on our lives and find that opening, that mentor, even the words of ONE UNDERSTANDING PERSON who helped our goals, put air in the balloon of our dreams.

But we also know that being a parent about to help a child make that major choice, can be like standing by  Captain Hook’s plank…can our son or daughter walk the plank of his or her choice safely? Or is he or she going to fall off…and to complete the analogy, where is Tinker Bell? Or who is Tinker Bell?

BUT YES, WE JUST KEEP LISTENING ….to our own hearts and always to our children…their ideas, goals and longings. And we will not regret that.

And despite Bill’s connected neighbor, I am certain my brother would have become a success in the music business. And despite my having a toddler and having left a solid teaching career, I was determined to go back to school and become a Labor and Delivery RN. First there was the fact that I had never studied medicine. Then there was the fact that I was seeking a particular, coveted position as an older, brand-new RN: You will never get that position, so many told me. BUT I DID. And yes, I had a long drive into the city, but I loved Mercy Hospital, and I loved all the people there and my work. 

SO FINAL THOUGHT….Watch what you say or dream or create in front of your own children.

TRUE STORY: my daughter Christie and I are in her car, she driving us to dance class for her firstborn Adeline, then three going on four, riding in the backseat, amusing herself, while Christie lists for me all the options for this amazing child, referring to the pressure that even young children can experience as the world opens up for them: pre-school, gym, this dance class…and my daughter suddenly wonders aloud if it is all just too much, and how will it go….

while in the back seat, safe in her carseat where she has been looking out the window, Adeline suddenly reveals the direction SHE is heading, saying, I CAN DO THE TRICKY STUFF. 

Of course! And I, her grandmother, will never forget this…Adeline now in the depth of college study, preparing for a career in research and aspects of medicine. OF COURSE SHE IS!!   She can do the tricky stuff, and so can so many of those we love and encourage.

So please remember to take a deep breath, and then slowly let it out….when YOUR CHILD makes that amazing announcement. Because he or she certainly will…and thanks for reading. 

10055 South Wood Street, The Story of a Family

In the late sixties, I became a latchkey child who didn’t mind walking two plus miles from Longwood High School to my home in Beverly Hills, a Chicago neighborhood far south of the city. Through the soft breezes of spring and the freezing cold winds of winter, I walked the same cracked sidewalks and the same streets, avoiding the whoosh of traffic, and depending on the time of day, waiting to hear the faraway horns of the Rock Island Trains bringing commuters to and from the city.  

Beverly, a place of parks and treed streets, older homes and churches, my mile plus walk taking me by shops, two-flats, train-tracks, buses—and depending on my mood when I left school late because of chorus or working on our newspaper, I’d walk south to 99^th street, turning right and heading west to Wood…or I’d walk west on 95^th to Wood, turning left through familiar neighborhoods…because these pathways, despite cold winds or hot sun, were my way home.

Later, when struggling to find the key to our grey frame house, I rarely realized my good fortune…this place of green lawns, neatly kept homes, so different from the descriptions of city life I’d read about in books, seen in photos in Life Magazine. Beverly, like a small town, easy to navigate–city blocks with north-south streets bearing elegant names, east-west streets using numbers to indicate their distance from Chicago’s city center. Beverly, with nature’s gifts lining our streets…stately elms shaped like wine glasses reaching out to maples, oaks…all forming arches of spinning leaves.

And so begins my book…thanks for reading…soon to be available on Amazon. 

PS. Many of you who still follow me and read my work, know that after living in Park Forest, Homewood, Des Moines, Iowa, and West Lake Village California….my husband and I are now back in Chicago, in Beverly.

But I wrote this book years ago, eager to preserve my memories of growing up in an amazing place, being raised by my giving and wonderful mother after my father died in 1950 of a major heart attack. Medicine could not save him at that time. And as I grew, married my forever love, John Havey, taught high school English at Bloom Township High School, later to be blessed with three amazing children, I then went back to school to become an RN, work in Labor and Delivery at Mercy Hospital in downtown Chicago.

All of this before moving to Des Moines, Iowa, after John got a phone call…a growing company needed his skills. And so we moved, I working for Meredith Books and then the Des Moines Health Care Center during H1N1. But the best part, I had time to write. This book is my second Amazon Publication. Last year I gave you: AFTER PAPER LEFT. So as always, I thank you for reading, for being here, Beth  

REVIEW OF THE CORRESPONDENT by VIRGINIA EVANS

Novel writing is always about human joy, human grief. And novels often use tropes to organize content and please the reader. Definition: A trope is a common or recurring motif, theme, or device in storytelling. It also refers to any figurative use of language—such as a metaphor, simile, or irony—where words express a meaning different from their literal sense.

Reading Virginia Evan’s THE CORRESPONDENT, the cover quotes Ann Patchett: “A cause for celebration.” In my humble opinion…that depends. It took me a long time to read and finish this novel. I read another (Elizabeth Strout’s THE THINGS WE NEVER SAY) during that time.

But yes, I finally did get to the end of the correspondent, a series of letter shared by the main character, Sybil Van Antwerp, who is the correspondent, with various other letter writers who come and go.

All writers use tropes. In fact, you might be creating a novel right now and not realize that the amazing plot  line you are working with contains a trope, one that has been used for centuries by other writers. Examples…the long, lost parent, the dead child, the secret lover, the dying major character. 

And what is a motif or theme…basically it is human experience. When you sit down to write a novel, you are writing about love and grief, surprise and longing. These are human qualities and they surface in our lives when we encounter love, death, abuse, abandonment, success, and unforgivable pain.

It would be wrong of me to state right out what the major TROPE in The Correspondent is. You have to read much of the novel to find it, which is interesting, because many writers use a trope at the very beginning, and then expand on it to bring the novel to a its close. Evans reveals this almost at the conclusion of her work. It’s as if she is driving us down a twisting highway, allowing us to meet so many people in her life, when the one person she longs for who we know nothing about is finally revealed.

Maybe that is why Evan’s Sybil is THE CORRESPONDENT, her name another interesting choice: Sybil is of Greek origin and translates to “prophetess” or “oracle”. In ancient Greek and Roman mythology, sibyls were prophetic women believed to interpret messages from the gods and possess divine knowledge of the future.

The Correspondent is 281 pages of letters, characters and indecision, the major cause of all being revealed at the end. Different? Useful? It worked for this new and now admired writer. Let me know if it works for you.