UPON FURTHER REVIEW

I had an English professor who began every one of his creative writing classes with the phrase “Upon further review.”

It was an exercise to encourage us to take a second look at the assignment we had presented the previous day. We were to read over what we had written and see how it could be made better, the flow of words easier to read and grammatically correct. Often the only tweaking required would be the removal or addition of a word, a restructured sentence.

I was occupied with other things besides writing, for I was one of the older students who had returned to school at age 38. I did the assignment but didn’t understand the need for the ‘further review.’ I had written what I felt was an adequate piece between cooking dinner and folding laundry, and felt no compunction to change anything; that mindset would later defeat me, hindering my reasoning and direction I should have heeded. Sometimes you do need to take a second look at things, to look at things with fresh eyes.

Summer of 2009 has been extremely rainy, and one I don’t think I’ll soon forget. I’ve filed it in my mind as the “Rainbow Summer,” since the mixture of the sun and low laying clouds has created more than I can remember seeing in one season. The rain has birthed beautiful flowers and strange fruit in our garden, the likes of which we’ve not witnessed before. What was first thought as an errant zucchini, has turned to a pumpkin, before deciding it is really a watermelon. I realized it was a metaphor for my life as well and the process I have taken to get where I am.

The rain has also produced the most magnificent blooms from my rose bushes as well. Given as wedding presents on a hot summer morning, we couldn’t wait to plant them.

Disappointment loomed for three seasons as the bushes were barely non-descript, the sweet petals munched up by beetles. The resulting roses were skimpy and odorless; we secretly hoped this wasn’t a harbinger of things to come.

Happily, this summer I’ve awoken to vases chock full of roses of every size. Their luscious aroma fills my head even before I open my eyes, knowing a bouquet has been placed on my bedside table, a good morning kiss from the one those least expected to be so romantic.

In fact, the kitchen and dining room tables are equally adorned with vases large and small, bookends to the calamities of the day ahead.

So upon further review, I will be thankful for this rainy summer of 2009 during the winter of 2010. I will remember to try to be more than just adequate, and to constantly tweak what I can to make life around me more beautiful and worth the effort.

As I travel back to those vases full of love, I will remember what they were created from – rain, roses and rainbows.

GOING HOME

I'm sitting in a comfy chair at the O'Hare Airport terminal, waiting for my flight to bring me back home to New York and the Village of Pultneyville.

It's the last flight of my year long trek promoting my last book, and also a way to visit most of my family scattered across these great United States.

It's been a great time and a learning experience as well. Although I kept my events contained to either a Barnes & Noble or a Borders book store, each event was unique to itself.

Every CRM (Community Resource Manager) sets up their event differently. Sometimes I've been seated in the back of the store, other times right so close to the entrance you could trip over me.

There have been readings which required either a wireless mic, other times a podium where I stood for three hours before rows of half occupied white folding chairs. Sometimes I am seated at the Starbucks Cafe, my short legs dangling from the stools against the high top tables.

Once I was placed in the children's section in the rear of the store, clearly the premise of my book misread by the CRM. It's ok, though - I always make it work and I always sell the books. Most importantly, I always have fun.

All in all, I'll be ready to do it again at the beginning of 2010 in order to promote my next book. For now, I am taking the long awaited break to get ready for the Red Neck Luau on July 25th, a great time to unwind and enjoy what is left of hopefully a dry summer.

The holidays will be here before we know it, the leaves turning crimson and gold and the lake a joyous backdrop and reminder of how this all started in the first place.

I will be home on the lake - with my Beloved, my Boys, and my Books.

LIVING TIME PIECES

I wish that I could have thought of something poignant to say, something to commemorate their graduation day. But nothing came to mind.

“That’s how it is with me", I reminded them. “I’ll think of something later when I sit down to write it.”

It was the last Monday night we would be meeting until class began again in the fall. Would they be returning? They all said they would, unless death or family obligations prevented them. I told them to tell their friends and anyone who was interested in preserving history. I hoped with all my heart we would be continuing, for I have learned so much from them than they received in instruction from me.

They knew me from my weekly column appearing in the local newspaper, my byline “Stories From the Lake.” I knew none of them, but was quick to learn how fascinating a group of students they were going to become.

For the past eight Mondays, we have been meeting at Williamson High School to begin a journey together. Seven in all, we met from 4:30pm to 6:30pm for a “Course in Memories.” It was an adult education course geared towards anyone who wanted to write about their life story, a loose leaf binder full of thoughts and recollections to pass down to their descendants.

They wrote down their thoughts and memories after receiving their assignment every week, a bullet list of ‘triggers’ that might jostle a memory or two. Reading it a loud the following week also brought back a cornucopia of experiences they shared without realizing it.

Writers all, they had been teachers and business leaders in the first part of their adult life. Some of them grew up in the country, here in Williamson and never traveling far. Some of them lived in cities and others in different states. All of them were deeply affected by wars and the Great Depression, painstakingly recounting how hard it was or how scared they all were. Survival was key, and not as glamorous as Hollywood would have us believe. Some have children, both natural and adopted; some did not.

What drives them all is the desire to share their experiences and knowledge with those they love. They wrote as examples of how to get through hard times, to stand tall and weather any storm that befalls them. “You come from strong sturdy stock” they all seemed to say. “Stand up – you can do this, because others before you have as well.”

At times tears were shed although it took the form of a cold or an allergy. Dark humor broke the reverie of those who for a moment traveled back to when a husband died or was taken far too soon. A comforting smile and a knowing look helped them as they helped each other, laughing and begging them to continue when one of them would stop mid sentence and ask “Is this boring you?”

“Write how you talk” I urged them. “The reader wants to recognize that it is you who is speaking to them.”

One of them made paper graduation hats, black mortarboards that they put atop their heads and posed for a picture. When I had asked earlier in the semester if I could post their picture, they said no. But that night whatever reasoning they had were put to the side when they donned the makeshift trophies. They were proud of what they had accomplished and let me snap their picture.

I urged them to continue writing over the summer, because it is their story and it isn’t finished until they say it is.

I hope with all my heart they return to me again when the leaves of autumn are falling and the wheels of time are continuing to churn forward. The hours are moving steadily and I am so blessed to be able to sit and listen to these living time pieces, to hear the jeweled tick tock of their lives as they relive it and tell it to us.

That’s the best that I can do, for now.