Celebrating Life

Paris in August Part Two

2012-01-13T15:17:00.000-08:00

Unk invited my sister and me to the Foliere’s Begere for dinner and a show. He picked us up in a taxi and dressed in our finery, we rode across the city, now bathed in bright lights, for an evening of fun. My uncle who is known for his frugality, especially when it comes to his nieces, was particularly generous that evening treating us to a seven course dinner, a stylish show, and to top it off, a bottle of champagne. The evening ended on a high note.

The next day, Sis and I decided to explore the nearby neighborhood including Place Pigalle. Coming out of our hotel, one of the first things we noticed was the gentlemen’s club right across from us. Down the narrow block, apartment buildings and small hotels like ours were intermingled among these clubs. Throughout the day and far into the night, women, heavily made-up, scantily clad and wearing high-heeled shoes stood in the doorways of the clubs, - young, old, shapely, and shapeless, blonds, brunettes, and redheads. They called out to male passersby, trying to entice them to enter the clubs to fulfill their fantasies. Other tourists walked up and down the street. Some glanced curiously into the dark interiors, some stared straight ahead as they scurried past. Apartment dwellers hurried to their doors, punched in a code that allowed them to enter the buildings.

Short blocks and narrow sidewalks, fruit stands sandwiched between the buildings, gargantuan wooden doors, and streets filled with people impressed upon my memory. Sis and I found a bakery where we bought fresh baked baguettes, and a cafeteria where we planned to eat lunch. Strolling along Place Pigalle we passed the sex shops, the pharmacy specializing in sexual enhancing products for men, the Monoplex, a department store, shops where tourist could purchase souvenirs and the ubiquitous cafes where patrons sat at small tables to drink wine or beer and watch the never-ending stream of humanity. At the far end of Place Pigalle stood the famous Moulin Rouge. We explored the massive lobby, reading the advertisements and noting the upcoming shows. It was closed but would open in the evening.

We rode the bus up a steep hill to Montmartre where we gazed down at the city below. We visited the Sacre-Coeur Basilica and watched artists paint lovely scenes of the cityscape. I didn’t notice the sign that read “no photographs” until I’d snapped a photo. Finally we hiked back down to Place Pigalle.

Imagine our surprise when we bumped into our uncle strolling down Pigalle with a sheepish grin on his face. He said that he, like us, was just exploring the area. He said he had arranged for us to come to his hotel the next day where we would meet our cousin who had relocated to Paris and was now a “celebrity” there. Coincidentally we ran into him several times during our stay “exploring the area.” I think he spent more time exploring the area around our hotel than he did his.

Paris in August

2011-12-11T18:23:00.000-08:00

When one thinks of Paris, France, one thinks of all the famous places to visit, like the Le Louvre, the Eifel Tower, the Palace of Versailles, the Sacre-Coeur Basilica, and other things like French wine and romance. I looked forward to my vacation in Paris with my sister and my uncle. While this was our first trip to this celebrated city, my uncle had been in Paris during World War II and again years later and was eager to return.

I booked reservations online choosing the hotel based on the quaint photos of the newly renovated hotel posted on the Internet – inexpensive, gorgeous looking interior, rich colors, off the beaten path, lovely spiral staircase. My uncle, on the other hand, was booked into a well-known hotel not far from the Eifel Tower- located on the other side of town. Our hotel was three-star, his five-star. We met up at the airport and engaged a taxi. The driver was none too thrilled as he jammed our luggage into the boot of his small cab. My sister and I were dropped off first at our hotel; the driver took Uncle to his. I paid little attention to the area as we hauled our luggage out of the car and into the small lobby. The woman behind the desk spoke little English. As I had when I went to Spain, I had learned a few French words and phrases before coming, enough to make our check-in a bit easier.

We rode the elevator up to our room and were surprised at how small it was. We could barely get our suitcases inside. A couple of steps from the door were twin beds with little room in between. A couple of steps from the beds was a tiny bathroom. The largest thing in the room was the floor to ceiling window that looked out onto the narrow street below. From the window we could just barely see Place Pigalle, an infamous area known for its sex shops and prostitutes. When I chose the hotel, I didn’t know this. About the only thing I recognized from the photos posted on the Internet was the spiral staircase with its rod iron decorated scrolled railings. However, suffering from jetlag, we retired early.

The next day after the complimentary breakfast, which consisted of a fresh baguette, strong coffee or tea and orange juice served in their quaint dining room, we decided to visit Uncle at his hotel located on the other side of town. At the desk we asked the concierge for directions. The Metro station was just up the block from our hotel. We purchased ten tickets for 61 French francs or ff (the Euro was not widely popular) to last at least a week. While most passengers use tickets, others jump over, crawl under, or pair up to avoid the charge, a freebee on the city, I guess. Paris has an efficient train system that carries riders all over the city. Trains run from 5:30 AM until 1AM when the ground beneath the city streets cease to rumble like earthquake tremors. It is the heartbeat of the city.

About 35 minutes later, my sister and I arrived at Unk’s luxurious hotel. The huge lobby contained a piano bar, a café, gift shop, and a seating area with plush couches and chairs. Businessmen and tourists filled the lobby. As soon as we entered Unk’s room, we marveled at its size and all the amenities he had access to. From his window we saw the Eifel Tower and much of the city. The weather was fantastic; we were in good spirits and looked forward this new adventure. During the next two weeks, we would take in a few tourist attractions, meet a distant cousin who had become a popular singer, spend an evening at the Follies Beg ere, and have a unique experience at the home of a woman who made her living hosting parties or soirees for artists, tourists and newcomers to Paris.

Misadventures in Costa del Sol, Spain - Part Three

2011-10-24T16:28:00.000-07:00

My two-week vacation had come to an end. This was my last day at the resort and I had to be out by noon. My friends had gone home the day before. My plane though, wasn’t scheduled to leave until the next day. Knowing this, I telephoned around to hostels to find a place to spend the night. Finally I found a place and made a reservation. I checked out of the hotel, took the bus into Malagua. With my luggage, I wandered the streets of the city trying to locate the address asking everyone I met (in my halting Spanish) for directions. After several wrong turns I found it. I checked into the small hotel, took the ancient elevator up to the third floor and stood before the old wooden door hesitant to insert the key. I felt as if I’d stepped back in time. It reminded me of the tenement buildings in Harlem where I grew up except this hallway was much smaller. Slowly, I opened the door to my room and stepped in. I was greeted by a sea of brown - brown walls, brown carpet, brown doors - one leading to a closet, the other to the tiny bathroom, a single bed with a faded bedspread. The forty-watt bulb dangling from the ceiling cast ominous shadows on the wall. On a small table sat a 14 inch TV screen, with programs in Spanish, mostly featuring bull fights. The only window looked out onto an alley – quite a comedown from the luxurious apartments at the resort with large color TV’s that featured international programs. Nonetheless, it would do for one night.

I wandered through the Lara, an interesting maze of streets, and as I was getting hungry, I decided to find a place to eat. From a guidebook I’d borrowed from my local library and copied pages, I thought about having one of Spain’s famous dishes “Malaguena.” The problem, my funds were quite low. I could either dine out my last day in Spain, eating at one of the outdoor restaurants, or save the money to pay my hotel bill and take a taxi to the airport the next day. I decided I’d eat out. When the waiter delivered the huge dish of fried fish, I savored the wonderful taste. But when I began to look closely at what I was eating, I saw what looked like eyeballs staring up at me – octopus or squid tentacles, I think. Despite the delicious flavors, I couldn’t finish my meal knowing I was eating octopus.

I returned to my lonely room, tried to read in the dim light until I finally fell asleep listening to voices murmuring nearby and the elevator as it rattled up and down its shaft. The next day, I returned to my exploration of the Lara. As my checkout time from the hostel approached I felt my anxiety rise, I was deep into the Lara and lost. Walking quickly down one street after another, I finally found one that led to the boulevard and to my hostel. I paid the hostel bill with my credit card, took a taxi to the airport, and sat around for hours waiting for my plane to take me home. It had been a wonderful adventure; however, I was ready to put it behind me.

Misadventures in Spain - Part Two

2011-09-24T16:51:00.000-07:00

I had been in Spain for almost a week. At the end of the first week, my two friends joined me at the beautiful resort. Tired of talking to myself and wandering around alone, I was looking forward to their visit. During that 2^nd week we visited Mijas, a quaint, picturesque village; Seville, historic, cultural, and financial capital of Southern Spain; Gibraltar where we visited St. Michael’s Cave and the monkeys that roam freely about the area; and the Casbah, a walled city in Tangier, Morocco.

I’d seen Casablanca, the 1940’s movie staring Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and Paul Henreid, and couldn’t wait to see that area of Tangier where such intrigue took place. Before entering the Casbah, our guide warned us all to keep up with the group as the Casbah is made up a maze of streets and alleys where one could easily get lost. We were also warned to watch out for pickpockets who preyed on unsuspecting tourists. He added that we would encounter many vendors trying to sell their wares and to be “careful how you open your purses or wallets.” Armed with these warning almost put me in a state of panic. I don’t know about the others, but I was on guard. As our guide led us through the Casbah pointing out different sights, all I could think about was his warning. “Keep up with group and watch out for pickpockets.” When I spotted several young men in green-stripped tee shirts moving among us, I clutched my purse even tighter. When vendors approached, while I wanted to examine their wares, I dared not stop. One vendor was offended about my refusal and asked derisively, “Why are you here if you don’t want to buy?” Despite this, there were many memorable moments even if I can’t remember them.

Back to our resort. The end of the week fast approached but not the end of our adventures. The weather was hot and humid and since our apartment had no air conditioner, we were forced to leave the windows and door to the balcony opened to catch whatever breeze happened by. One morning, one of my friends was awakened when she felt someone standing at the foot of her bed. Thinking it was me, she didn’t pay much attention at first. But when she opened her eyes she saw a man bending over the nightstand where she had her bag. She shouted, frightening the man who headed for the balcony door. We watched him leap from balcony to balcony carrying a basket filled with other tenants’ valuables. Lesson learned, when traveling, don’t leave valuables lying around openly. When we reported it to the front desk, they denied knowing anything about it. Suddenly I understood why this beautiful resort had so many empty rooms. The next day my friends flew back to the U.S. leaving me alone to spend one more day and night at the resort.

Travel Misadventures Part One - Costa del Sol

2011-08-30T17:23:00.000-07:00

I’d booked two weeks at a resort in Costa del Sol and was looking forward to spending my vacation in Spain, a country I had never before been. I flew from LAX to Heathrow in London, and then from Gatwick to Malagua, Spain. Being on a tight budget, I called the hotel prior to my departure to find the most economical way to get to the resort. The receptionist at the hotel desk where I’d plan to spend my vacation, told me the best way to get there was to take a taxi from the airport to Costa del Sol. “It will cost around $50,” she said. “Is there a less expensive way?” I asked. “Well,” she hesitated, “there is.” She gave me directions. From the airport in Malagua to the resort in Costa del Sol is a distance of over thirty miles. Piece of cake, I thought confidently. I love an adventure, or so I thought.

Outside the Malagua airport was a line of taxicabs, each driver beckoning me. “No, gracias,” I waved them away. In my halting Spanish I managed to find the local train station. The car I stepped into was practically empty. I sat down and as I waited for the doors to close, I looked around wondering who to pay and when. The doors closed and the train started. At each stop passengers hopped on and off before the conductor reached the car in which I was sitting. Will I be able to do the same? Not a chance. Fortunately, I had exchanged a few dollars at the airport so when the conductor came to me, I was able to pay my fare. I think at the time it was three pesetas to Fuengirola.

The town of Fuengirola was the last stop. Trying not to show how confused I was, I followed the crowd of people to one of several bus stops and waited. Someone told me what bus to take and where to get off. After several minutes, the local bus arrived. By now it was rush hour and with my heavy bags I managed to get a seat. It was a long ride and especially distressing because with so many people standing in the aisle, I couldn’t see the street names. Finally I heard the driver call out the name of my stop. I managed to push pass the passengers to get off before the bus pulled away. On one side was a long stretch of coastline; on the other, various shops, and restaurants, and in front of me, a very steep hill. As I stood looking up at Mount Everest, I began to wish I had paid the $50 for a taxi. Gathering my remaining strength, I dragged my luggage up the hill to the resort, a distance of almost a mile.

It was almost dark when I checked in. Tired, hot and sweaty, not to mention suffering from jet lag, all I wanted was a shower and something to eat. I had no problem checking in or finding the way to my apartment. When I surveyed the rooms, I noticed that the bathtub was filled with water. I unplugged the stopper and let the water drain out. Then I undressed, stepped into the shower and turned on the faucet. Nothing. Not a drop. I phoned the desk. “We turn off the water for a few hours, once every week. It’ll be on again tomorrow,” the clerk explained cheerfully. “Use the water in the bathtub.” I groaned. Too hungry and exhausted to bother, I decided to forget the shower; just let me get something to eat. Unfortunately, the on-site restaurant was closed. The desk clerk told me where to purchase food and water - halfway down the hill I’d just climbed! Oh well, my adventure had begun. If this were any indication of things to come, it would be a long two weeks.

My Favorite Vacation

2011-07-21T12:04:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago on vacation in Arizona, I went to a sales presentation for a timeshare. The reward for sitting through the ninety-minute presentation was half price off a tour of the Grand Canyon. The salesman, Tom, asked me “Of all the vacations you’ve taken, what would you say was your favorite?” I had to think a while about it. I’ve gone on vacations alone and also with family. Each time was unique.

I thought about the time I went to a resort in Tobago. I couldn’t get anyone to go with me so, not wanting to cancel my vacation, I went alone. However, before I could settle in, I met a family, two sisters, their daughters and granddaughter, who feeling responsible for me, took me under their wings. “How can you travel alone?” they asked. “We go everywhere together,” to Alaska, to Turks and Caicos in the Caribbean. They couldn’t imagine me traveling alone. While I appreciated their concern, not wanting to appear standoffish, I accepted their invitation to tag along with them. But I soon found their taste differed a bit from mine. I love to swim. I never saw them get into the pool or Jacuzzi, nor did they relax at the nearby beach. Instead they shopped. Lunchtime they usually went out to a restaurant to eat. My place had a full kitchen. And since I was on a budget, I purchased food and brought it to my small apartment. Each evening they dressed up in makeup, heels, dressy outfits, and sat around the lounge watching the entertainment. I felt more comfortable in my shorts, tee shirt, and sandals. While I was grateful they included me in their activities, whenever I could, I ventured off on my own.

Whenever I go places with family, I’ve always enjoyed myself. Once we accompanied my uncle to Paris. Now that was fun. That was one of my favorite trips. There were other trips with family I found thoroughly enjoyable. The advantages of vacationing with family and friends are that you don’t have to make critical decisions that affect everyone, it becomes a group effort; Also when you’re with others, no one looks at you strangely; you can blend in. Traveling with family and friends, I have felt safe, more relaxed. I laugh a lot. However, on the other side, vacationing with family and friends, I usually set aside my desires and yield to the desires of others.

Whenever I’ve gone to places alone, such as a recent trip to Sedona, I’ve enjoyed that very much as well. It was an adventure that had me discovering not only the magnificent sites in the area, but also learning more about myself; tapping into my strengths as well as recognizing my weaknesses. There is no escaping one self when you vacation alone. On the up side, I’ve found it easier to meet people when I’m alone than when I am with family or friends. On the down side, I’m always aware of the issue of safety. I don’t stay out late at night. I can’t be as relaxed as I am with family. Nevertheless, I set my own schedule, eat what I want, wander wherever I please, stay as long as I want, and can change my mind without worrying about hurting others.

I appreciate vacationing with family and alone. Both have their advantages and disadvantages. To answer Tom, the salesperson’s question about my favorite vacation, I’d have to say all were special. Just getting away from time to time from my normal routine is one of my favorite activities.

Tribute to My Brother on Father's Day

2011-06-30T12:12:00.000-07:00

When he was young, my big brother was incorrigible. He did all sorts of things, so much so that my father and mother couldn’t handle him. Because they worked, they were unable to supervise him as they wished. He was a wild colt, doing whatever he wanted. He bullied us younger siblings, played hooky from school, stayed in the street long after he was supposed to be at home. Seeing my parents’ plight, our favorite aunt stepped in and took him to stay with her. Not having children of her own, she allowed him to do whatever he chose at her home. While we were not allowed to touch her walls for fear of leaving fingerprints, he could climb all over the furniture without once touching the floor. In her eyes, he could do no wrong; She spoiled him.

Whenever he’d return home to our small apartment, we children trembled in fear. My sister, younger brother and I would plan how to get even for the mean things he’d do to us. One example, he would sit in front of our small TV, and open an umbrella so we kids could not see the screen. Once he closed my younger brother in the sleeper couch as a joke; our parents did not think it was funny. Even school couldn’t tame him. When he was still a teenager, he dropped out and joined the Air Force. He fought in the Korean War and was stationed in Japan where he wanted to stay. By the time he returned home, he was a man. Service had leavened him.

When my father was alive, our home was the center to which not only his wife and children, but also his sisters, brother, cousins and in-laws gathered to sort out their problems. Daddy was the patriarch; our home, a refuge. After his death, Big brother inherited that mantle. Though married with a family of his own, he was called upon to help other family members. We all knew we could depend on him. He opened his home to us whenever we visited or needed a place to stay, and, like Daddy, he gave wise counsel.

As an adult, I began to see my brother in a different light. Beneath the surface of this strong, quiet man was a connoisseur who sought beauty in objects he found in outlet stores, and antique shops along downtown Manhattan and in plant nurseries. He constructed a fantastic garden in his backyard filling it with beautiful and rare plants of all colors and sizes. He loved music, especially blues, and poetry. When he was young, he loved to draw. His love of art expanded while he was in Japan. Not just a loving husband and father, he was a leader. He became a 33^rd degree Mason. From the obstinate young man who terrorized his siblings, my brother grew into a man I greatly respected and admired. I will always remember him for his kindness, generosity, and patience. Thanks, Sis. for your help.

In Praise of Diversity

2011-05-19T12:00:00.000-07:00

I grew up in Harlem during a time when my community was made up almost totally of African Americans. As a young child, the only people of other races I saw on a regular basis were a few teachers who taught at the elementary and junior high school, the police, firemen, insurance man, and the people who owned the stores and those who worked in the stores along 125^th St.; Nonetheless, there were times when we would go on school outings to the dental school in midtown, or to the museums. As a teenager and a young adult I ventured into other communities, Little Italy, Chinatown, East Harlem. As an adult I have traveled widely. I believe I have greatly benefited from learning about other cultures. The foods, music, dance have become part of me and, I believe, have made me a more well- rounded person.

Living in a society or a community where all people are the same gives us a myopic point of view especially when we aren’t even interested in learning other cultures. Someone once said the more you know about others, the more you know about yourself.

I appreciate learning about the rich cultures that help form the U.S. as well as those who live in other parts of the world. I believe we have more in common than differences. Strip away the various beliefs and practices that set us apart, strip away our own prejudices and fears, we find that we all have the same aspirations – to love and be loved, to be safe and secure, to be respected, and to be free to develop to the best of our abilities.

Diversity helps to break down barriers. It allows us to move beyond a “them versus us” mentality. And it enriches our lives. When we recognize the similarities in our basic desires and respect our differences, perhaps this will bring an end to so much suffering in the world; maybe than we can truly celebrate life.

A New Day

2011-01-30T19:05:00.000-08:00

Before the year ended, I decided to visit my friend Mattie to get some of her words of wisdom along with her black-eyed peas, collard greens and hot apple cider. She was in her kitchen cooking up her traditional New Year’s meal.

“Whew, this year flew by,” I said settling down at her kitchen table, my stomach starting to growl in response to the delicious smells coming from the pots on her stove.

“It sure has, faster than a hummingbird in a garden of flowers. I’m grateful that I made it this far,” she responded. At eighty, Mattie is in tip-top shape. She watches what she eats, exercises, and does all the right things. I told her so. “I hope I look and feel as good as you do when I get your age.”

“Other than a little arthritis and other aches and pains that come with age, I feel fine. Looking forward to a new year.”

“The end of the year always makes me sad when I think of all the people who have died and the things I didn’t get done,” I said, “problems that weren’t resolved, relationships broken up. December was hectic. Rush, rush, rush was the order of the day. I was so busy shopping for the right gifts, keeping up with all that was expected of me. Now that the celebrations are over, I feel a sense of loss, a let down. Mostly though, I think about growing older.”

“Honey, I understand how you feel,” she said. “The holidays are emotionally draining for some. For those who have families, it can be both joyous and frustrating at the same time because of all the expectations. For those who are alone or who have lost loved ones, it can be a depressing time.”

She handed me a plate and told me to help myself to the pots of food. Wiping her hands on her apron, she filled her plate and sat down beside me. After taking a bite of food she said, “I look forward to each new year. Each year I say to myself, ‘I’m gonna make this the best year of my life.’”

“And does it get better?” I asked.

“There are up’s and down’s. But I don’t let the down’s knock me out,” she said with a laugh. “I remind myself of the “Serenity Prayer” ‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’ I try not to repeat the same mistakes. I know that my life is fuller when I step out on faith, reach out to others, take care of my health, and look forward each day to learning something new.”

“Amen,” I said, and reached for another biscuit. After the rain, the sun was coming. I could see this was a new day and I was looking forward to the challenge.

Things That I Use to Do, I Don't Do No more

2010-11-24T13:54:00.000-08:00

Not long ago, as I was coming out of the grocery store, I bumped into my neighbor. He was driving a minivan, one that I’d never seen before. Usually he drives an antique white Buick sedan. We talked a bit about friends and family, the usual. Marveling at the blue shiny spotless minivan, I asked him, “Is it new? Are you planning to take a trip?” “No,” he said. “My wife and I use to go camping in it but we don’t anymore.” He said he stopped a while ago, put it into his garage and hadn’t driven it in years. I asked him why? He shrugged, “Hadn’t thought about it until now. My other car is in the shop. I haven’t been camping in years either. Just can’t find the time.” I understood his response. But it got me thinking. There are a lot of things I use to do that have fallen by the wayside like partying all night, riding a rollercoaster, playing handball, and smoking. Some things I outgrew, some things I realized were bad for my health, but some things that I really enjoyed fell by the wayside as well. As we grow up and older, it’s natural that we evolve. If we don’t, life has a way of reminding us that we can’t do what we use to do. However, there are things I enjoyed doing that have disappeared without me noticing until something or someone reminded me. I decided to make a list – Things I use to do and things I’d like to do.

I use to love to dance; I use to lap swim, go to the beach in winter, hike, go to poetry readings, plays, and visit museums. I use to go to the movies, play handball, sing and play the guitar. I use to go to nightclubs and listen to jazz musicians do their thing. I use to draw, paint, and write poetry.

Remember the satisfying things I use to do but don’t do anymore, I tried to figure out why? Family, time, money, physical limitations, and fear certainly are all factors. I disregarded the things I can no longer do because of physical limitations. My mother use to say, “Do the things you can do, and don’t worry about the rest.” I decided it was up to me to revive the things I use to do that enriched my life.

Things I’ve returned to:

I have returned to the guitar after years of neglect.

I’ve begun to swim again.

The other day I went to the beach on a chilly fall day with my book, writing pad and ipod, sat down and watched the brave surfers in their wet suits await the big one.

On my list of things I plan to do:

Visit a museum

Take a ride on the Metro and explore L.A.

See a play

Go to a jazz club

Attend a poetry reading

Visit friends. Lately I’ve been too busy, but I must make time.

The more I think about it, the longer my list grows. Rediscovering the joy I got from doing some of the things I use to do has ignited a spark in me that makes each day something to look forward to.

Kalgon, Take Me Away

2010-10-30T19:07:00.000-07:00

The other day my friend Lula dropped in to see me. The last time she visited I was stressed out, at my wits end; problems with family, too many bills, and too little money with which to pay those bills. "On top of everything else," I said, "I've spent too much time watching TV and listening to the news. Wars, drugs, political intrigue, the economy, you name it. The world's going to hell in a hand basket!" Suddenly I stopped ranting and noticed that Lula seemed more relaxed than ever. I commented on her serene countenance. "What's your secret? How come you look so calm and relaxed." She just smiled and sipped her tea. "Let me pass along a little advice I got from my older female acquaintances," she said.

"First of all, I realized there was nothing I could do to save the world or right society's wrongs. Then I looked at my bills and found they weren't as much as I thought they were. I could deal with them in my own time. Finally, I went out and bought a box of Kalgon, turned off the TV and the telephone locked the bathroom door, climbed in the bathtub, and let Kalgon take me away."

"And that took away your stress?" I asked. "For a while it did. I discovered if I didn't treat myself occasionally, no one else would. You see, it's important to take time out for yourself," she said. "Get away from family and your normal routine if only for an hour. Everybody needs to recharge his or her batteries."

"Sounds like a lot of time and money," I said.
"It depends on what you choose. It doesn't have to cost that much. Here's a few things you can do.

Get a manicure and/or a pedicure if you've never had one before.
Give yourself a facial. My mother use to mix together oatmeal and water, and leave it on her face until it dried. My aunt would beat up a raw egg and spread it on her face. They had the smoothest complexion. Or you can purchase all sorts of facial scrubs and masks in a jar.
Go for a walk in the park. You can't beat going for a walk as a stress reliever. I'm not talking about walking as exercise. I mean a leisurely stroll in the morning or midday, stopping to "smell the roses."
Go to the beach if it's not too far away. I did just that the other day. I decided the night before that I was going to the beach in the morning. I packed my beach chair, a snack, my ipod, and a good book and spent the day at the beach. It was refreshing.
If you can afford it, get a massage. Look around for some place not too expensive and treat yourself. You don't have to be rich to pamper yourself like a queen."

The afternoon went by too quickly. After she left, I went to the grocery store and bought some bath salts. That evening I filled up the bathtub, lit a few fragrant candles, put on some good music and climbed into the tub for a good soak. Problems can wait. Tonight is for me. Oh, how easy it is to forget about or put aside our needs.

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

2010-07-31T21:23:00.000-07:00

I grew up living in an apartment in Harlem. When I moved to L.A. I lived in an apartment there. It wasn’t my desire to have a house though after experiencing rents that went up without explanation, downstairs neighbors that harassed my child when she walked across the floor or a landlord who was reluctant to fix a leaky toilet or replace a blown out light bulb on the stairs, I began to seriously think about buying a house. Home ownership in my chosen area was beyond my meager salary; however, after much searching, I finally found a house I could afford though it was many miles away from my job.

That was years ago before the catastrophe in the housing industry. But when I hear people say, “Not all people should have a house. They should be content to live in an apartment,” I wince. Not because what they are saying is true in some instances, but because it implies only certain people should have a house. I wonder if those who say this ever lived in an apartment where rents climbed and things broke and were never repaired, and walls were so thin you could hear your neighbor breathe? It’s fine if you can afford a luxury apartment with plenty of amenities, but not all people can. In addition, some people prefer to pay rent than a mortgage. Nevertheless, I have empathy for the plight of those who want to have a safe, decent place to live and to raise their family; and who have gone out on a limb to secure one; Isn’t that part of the American dream?

However, this blog isn’t about homeownership. It’s about empathy. What is empathy? I’ve been thinking about that word for a while, especially when I hear it used as a negative or weakness. My dictionary defines empathy as an identification and understanding of another’s feelings, situations and motives. That doesn’t sound like a weakness to me. It’s almost like the saying “walk a mile in my shoes,” or “maybe if you walk a mile in my shoes, you will understand what I’m going through.” I don’t have to have the same experience you have to empathize with you. I simply need to be sensitive to your situation. Having empathy doesn’t mean one is weak or naïve. Having empathy enhances a person’s humanity. It allows one to see both sides of an issue; to not jump to conclusions based on ones beliefs or opinion.

What happens when one does not have empathy? Not having empathy or understanding promotes intolerance. It can lead a person to relate to others based on ones prejudices and can lead to devaluing a person’s humanity. Also it can lead to reducing people to labels, not understanding other people who are different from you. It can cause us to see a homeless person as an annoyance rather than a human being keeping us from understanding “there but for the grace of God….” Or when one considers illegal immigration, one sees "aliens" coming in to “take away our jobs,” rather than people seeking a better life for their family. Or the argument that those who have lost their homes should have been content to rent since not all people should have a home.

I’m not condoning a person’s actions whether it is illegal, irresponsible or whatever. Rather, I’m appealing to the humanity in us all. Being empathetic may help us understand that we are not different from our neighbor. When we realize this, maybe we can build a better world.

Homage to My Father

2010-06-29T21:53:00.000-07:00

My father was a strong man. Born and raised in the South during the dark days of segregation; nonetheless, he survived with a strong set of principles and values. The oldest boy of fourteen children, though three of his sisters were older, they all looked to him for advice and guidance; Grandpa was a tyrant and womanizer. To his sisters and brother, our aunts and uncle, Daddy was the bedrock, the patriarch on whom they could depend. Whenever they had problems, they would call on him. If they needed a place to stay, our home was always open. If they needed money, advice, or help in any way, my father was there. Despite the fact that he barely finished third grade, Daddy had wisdom that he imparted to his family and his children in an attempt to prepare us for life.

He gave us children maxims to live by; tools to guide us through all phases of our lives. He counseled my sister, brothers and me about life. He told my sister, "Don't promise anything to anyone unless you mean it. You wouldn't offer a blind man sight." and "Be true to your word." "Never say, "yes sir," "no sir," or "yes ma'am," "no ma'am," to anyone. Though he worked for a family as their chauffeur, he refused to let his children do the same. We were to get a good education. In those days, a high school diploma was the goal. I was a tomboy always trying to keep up with my brother and his friends. When I turned twelve, the same boys I'd played with for years, began to notice me. One gave me a bracelet. My father promptly made me give it back. "Don't take presents from boys. They will expect something in return," he counseled me.

My father wore the mask Paul Laurence Dunbar spoke about in his poem, "We Wear the Mask (1913). At work he was a servant who drove his employer and his family around, part chauffeur, part butler, and part babysitter. He was always on call. At home, he was our wise daddy who knew everything and could do anything. A loving husband, every Friday he would bring my mother a pair of nylon stockings. On his days off, which were few, he would take my mother dancing. Whatever free time he had, he spent with us.

Though he died over forty years ago, his influence permeates my life. My brothers took after him. After he died at age forty-one, my brothers tried to fill his shoes. My oldest brother came closest. He became the one we turned to for advice. As in the home of my youth, my brother's home was always open. If we had problems, we could call on him to give us advice and to help us out. On Father's Day I thought about my father and my brothers and the men they were - faithful, loving, kind, caring, compassionate, and most of all strong. My wish is that all fathers strive to prepare their children for life armed with these traits and more.

Turn Off, Tune in, and Open Up

2010-04-21T13:46:00.000-07:00

"Turn it off! Just turn it off!" my friend Mattie admonished me. My blood pressure was rising as I ranted and raved about what I'd heard on TV. She reached over, grabbed the remote from my hand, and turned the set off. It took several minutes before I felt myself relaxing, giving in to the silence, my emotions returning to normal.

What was I ranting about? With so much happening on the international, national, and local levels of society - political, financial, and religious manipulation; wars, right and left wing rhetoric, health care debates, high unemployment, it's enough to have one shouting at their radio, TV, computer, or worst, carrying guns openly and threatening those we disagree with.

Mattie told me of two people she knew - Vernon and Lincoln. Both represent two sides of the political spectrum, liberal and conservative. They are swayed by pundits, and even though they have never been included in a survey, they feel that issues are one way or the other, repeating talking points they've heard, getting angry with each other over things they've read about such as abortion, gun control, gay rights, the country's budget deficits when they can't balance their own checkbook. They are always looking outward and seldom inward. What results is they are not open, not in touch with their feelings and their own reasoning powers. Though they were childhood friends, they no longer speak to each other except to argue.

"Find your own way by looking closer to home," she advised me. "It's okay to be aware of what goes on in society; it's important to take a stand, vote, and participate in our civic duty; however, you must discover the facts for yourself rather than repeat what others say. You mustn't let outside forces rule your emotions. Pay attention to things that directly affect you and things you can control."

I've come to realize that family, friends, neighbors, and even strangers are more important than what someone says on TV. When I look around I see people helping people, being kind to one another, relating to each other as one human being to another regardless of a label placed on them. If we allow others to manipulate our emotional lives, to define reality for us, we are blocked or hindered from real relationships with others. If we judge people by assigning labels to them and treating them according to those labels, we diminish ourselves. The best advice Mattie gave me was to turn off, tune in and open up to life.

A Lifetime of Learning

2010-03-01T15:26:00.000-08:00

"What you want to do that for?" Lincoln, an old acquaintance, said when I told him I was thinking of taking a class in photography. I explained that I'd bought a new camera and wanted to know how to take professional quality photographs. "Are you thinking of becoming a professional photographer?" he asked. "No, I just want to learn to take better pictures."

"I'll show you how," he said. "Shouldn't take more than five minutes. Just point at the person or object, make sure your back is to the sun and press the shutter. Simple." He didn't see any reason to spend time in a class to learn something that would be of little use. "You can't make any money from it. Besides, you're retired. Why waste your time?"

He and I have argued about other things. Like me, he's been retired for a number of years. He spends his time watching TV, complaining about the state of the world and finding ways to kill time. "for what?" I ask him. He doesn't reply. I tell him I don't want to kill time. "There's so much I don't know and so much I want to learn." However, Lincoln sees no value in learning for the sake of learning. Why study if you don't have to? is his attitude. He shakes his head and takes out a magazine from his back pocket.

Whether it is formal or informal, for me, learning is a lifetime endeavor. Formal learning is what is taught in school following a prescribed curriculum. When we are young, mandatory education during those primary and secondary years prepares us to become good citizens, good consumers, and productive members of society. Formal learning in college or technical schools also has an end result - a diploma or a certificate of achievement. The reward can be monetary or professional development and sometimes acknowledgment from others. Formal learning can also be undertaken when one wants to learn a skill or to enhance ones knowledge of a subject.

Informal learning is personal. It involves being attentive to the things around you and purposely pursuing to understand them and in doing so, to understand yourself as well. There is no set curriculum. You determine what you want to learn, how and why. You are not restricted by time. The reward is internal and the results satisfying.

Informal learning doesn't have to be expensive.

Start with your local library. It contains a wealth of information. When I had the opportunity to study on my own, I read works written by authors I'd heard about. Studying their body of work was more satisfying because I could take my time. I didn't need to take a test to prove what I'd learned. In addition, I checked out all types of music including blues, classical and jazz and found many I loved. If there was something I wanted to know, I did research about it in the library.
Another place of learning is the museum. Some charge a nominal fee, others are free.
During the summer, parks have free or inexpensive concerts.
If there is a college nearby, attend a free lecture.
If you like to garden but don't have a lot of space, consider container gardening. A friend of mine grows wonderful vegetables like tomatoes, onions, peppers in pots on her patio.
Another friend learned to make wine and soap from a book she got from the library.
My friend Mattie taught herself to knit, crochet and macrame.

It doesn't matter what it is, learning keeps your mind fresh and open. The more you learn, the more you will want to learn. Age is not a barrier. In other words, an old dog can learn new tricks. Others, like my friend Lincoln, may wonder why anybody would want to learn things which have no monetary value and are not needed in our modern lives today. Everyone should explore the world around them. They will find learning to be rewarding, enriching and life enhancing.

A Smile

2010-01-20T17:51:00.000-08:00

There are some people who when you look at them you would think they were always in a bad mood. The look on their faces signal, "Don't bother me. Don't say anything to me. I'm not interested." Not my mother. My mother's smile would light up a room. It was her natural expression. I can't remember her ever frowning much. I'm not saying she went around with a smile on her face all the time. It's just that she had a pleasant face, a gentle face that appeared to the outside world that she was approachable, non-threatening. Some people when they see a person smile take it for weakness and get set to take advantage. My mother related once that her co-workers would sometimes get annoyed at her because of her smile. "Don't you ever get mad?" They'd ask her. Of course she got angry, particularly at things she deemed unjust or unfair. On her job, she was a shop steward, a union representative. Co-workers would come to her if they had a grievance against management and she would represent them. And she taught her children to stand up for their rights. She was not a push-over. But it was her smile that I will always remember. My mother's smile was her legacy to me.

In a world filled with disaster - earthquake in Haiti, wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, conflict between the Palestinians and the Israelis, how can I write about smiling? Am I being naive? I don't think so. On the one hand, a smile can be used to seduce, to disarm, or to manipulate. On the other hand, an honest smile, one that comes from the heart, can brighten a person's day. No matter how bad I feel, or if I'm having a horrible day, when someone smiles at me, for that moment, my mood lightens. A smile can connect one person to another as if to say, "I understand." It can signal that a person is receptive, approachable. Sometimes when I've smiled at others, I've noticed frowns briefly disappear. I have a friend who always has a serious expression on her face. When I first met her, I kept my distance thinking she was unfriendly. But then I saw her smile. It was radiant. It changed my perception of her. A smile is a reminder that we should not take life so seriously and that we are not alone. There is much to cry about, but there is also much to smile about. When I wake up to a new day, or look at nature, a flower, a tree, a child's face, innocent and curious, or when I hear a person's laughter, I can't help but smile.

Six Things I Bequeath to You

2010-01-02T12:51:00.000-08:00

My friend Mattie wanted me to pass along this bit of wisdom to all her young females who are just starting out on life's journey. She calls it "Six things I bequeath to you"

I leave you my six-inch high heel shoes, the ones that made my feet scream at me as I strolled across the floor looking cute, trying to hide the pain that stabbed with each step. Despite the podiatrists' warnings, they are now back in style.

I leave you my mini skirts that rose up whenever I sat down revealing parts of my body better left hidden. Try having a serious conversation with a man when his eyes are drawn not to your face, but to your legs.

I leave you my push-up bras. Same reason as above.

My false eyelashes that made me look like a lovesick cow. It was hard to keep them on my eyelids. Maybe today the glue is better. I lost one once and wondered why people looked at me strangely.

I leave you my children during their teenage years when they become creatures from another planet. What they put me through during their hormonal changes I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. When I'm in my dotage and they've grown into loving, respectful, and responsible adults, I'll take them back

I leave you my cheating husbands and lovers. No details please, suffice it to say, you can have them.

I no longer worry about what others think of me. I welcome my spreading waistline, my graying locks, my droopy breasts, my failing eyesight and my growing wisdom. I welcome comfortable shoes, elastic-band sweat pants, oversize tee shirts and invisibility.

"Only six things?" I asked Mattie. "When I think of more, I'll let you know."

Stepping out of your comfort zone

2009-11-25T17:37:00.000-08:00

I remember when I was a little kid, and like most kids I loved to explore, to venture into unknown areas, to discover new things and try to learn how they worked; that is until Mama or Daddy slapped my hands to keep me from harming myself. That adventurous spirit continued into my teenage years sometimes leading me to take chances, some reckless, some not so, depending upon the influence of my friends. I would venture into places where I didn't know what to expect. Fortunately, no harm resulted. As a young adult, the first big chance I took was when I moved away from family and friends and across the country to a state where I didn't know anyone and did not have a job waiting. I had saved a little money to tide me over for a few weeks until I could find a place to stay and employment. (Jobs in those days were plentiful.) Somehow I managed to survive, but as time went by, responsibilities and obligations set in. And with those obligations and responsibilities came fear leaving me little time to think about much less follow any adventurous nature.

Many older people have traveled down the same road. In our youth, with no obligations or responsibilities hindering us from following the call of the wild except maybe family pressures, we take chances. Then, as we become adults, our fears change and in some instances grow. Not the childhood fears of the bogyman or the teenage fears of not fitting in, but adult fears that spring from the need to support a family, to find a job that satisfies, to raise our children to be loving, responsible adults, to make enough money not just to get by but not to have to worry about paying bills. With so much to consider, it's no wonder our spirit for adventure becomes buried. When those responsibilities have been met, the children grown, and we settle down to enjoy our mature years, sometimes another fear invades our senses. We want to explore but we feel we must know the outcome before we venture out of our comfort zone. The need to think ahead gets in the way of answering that call to adventure. By adventure, I don't mean doing something dangerous or life-threatening. I mean finding that spark that you had when you were younger, trusting in your judgment and following your heart. What do you have to lose? There is nothing sadder than regrets; wishing you had done something, but had let the opportunity go by. Keep in mind that life is fuller and more rewarding when we step out of our comfort zone.

Exercise - A Little Goes A Long Way

2009-09-22T16:31:00.000-07:00

I've been active most of my life either taking long walks to get away from my overcrowded home. Our door was always open to family members and friends; hence, our small Harlem apartment was many times filled with relatives and friends. Taking long walks from 145th Street to 125th Street, through Central Park and down to 59th Street was part of my young years.

When I moved out to L.A. I continued to walk, swim at the local pool, and practice yoga with Lilias who had a show on TV. At that time, exercise wasn't a big thing as it is today. I never thought of my activity as an exercise regimen. These were just some things I enjoyed doing. I didn't get into a formal exercise program until I joined the gym some years later. I began going to an aerobics class and worked out on the weight machines. This was followed by a step aerobics class until my knees gave out. No matter how hard I worked out, I could never keep up with others in those classes. Refusing to punish my body any further, I dropped out and did my own thing when I felt like it. Though I saw no dramatic changes in my weight or my physique, I did notice that my stamina increased, I became more flexible, and my strength improved. Over the years, while I don't participate in any of the high energy exercises enjoyed by many young people, I am like the turtle, slow and steady, knowing that it is a lifetime endeavor.

Studies show that regular exercise improves overall health,

improves stamina
boosts the immune system, making your body more resistant to disease and infection
helps prevent obesity
reduces the risk of heart disease
acts as a natural tranquilizer to help relieve stress, anxiety and depression
lubricates joints, thus easing aches and pains associated with arthritis
helps build strong, denser bones and decreases the risk of crippling osteoporosis
staves off, or improves many of the common disorders typically associated with aging
promotes an active life.

The American Heritage Dictionary defines the word "exercise" as activity that requires physical or mental exertion, especially performed to develop or maintain fitness. There are many ways to include physical activity into your everyday routine. The best kiind of physical activity is one where you are doing something you enjoy. I know a lady in her seventies who dances around her house daily to music she enjoys. And another who spends her day in her garden. And still another in her eighties who practices yoga and swims. I have a friend who at 102 still bowls. Whichever activity you choose to do, it should be part of your life.

It's never too late to begin as long as you have a doctor's approval especially if you have been inactive for a long time. Remember, a little exercise goes a long way.

Getting Technology Savy

2009-09-02T12:12:00.000-07:00

The other day, I visited my friend Mattie who had recently moved into senior housing. I hadn't seen her in a few months and I wanted to see how she was settling in and to show off my new gadget. I showed her my new iphone. "It does just about everything except cook a meal and run your bath water," I said. She laughed and shook her head. "Things have really changed from when I was a little girl. All these new inventions, I can't keep up," she said. "It seems that just when I become comfortable with one thing, it's obsolete." Although it is a struggle, Mattie tries. she's still learning how to use her new laptop computer. She uses it mostly to send emails to her children and other relatives, to pay her bills online, and to surf the web for anything she happens to be interested in.

She told me about her next door neighbor who refuses to even consider all the new technological advances. "Vera is the most stubborn person I've ever met. I tried to tell her she needed to get rid of her corded phone and get a cordless. That way she wouldn't miss so many calls." I told Mattie I, too, had had a hard time giving up my corded phone for the cordless. "And what would we do without the cell phone?" I asked. We were watching an old movie where the heroine was being chased by the villain. She tried to find a phone booth to dial the police. "If she had a cell phone, she wouldn't have had that problem," Mattie commented.

She said she spoke to her neighbor about getting a cell phone, but Vera didn't want to hear it. "Why would anyone want to carry around a phone with them all the time? When I'm out in the street, all I see are young folk with phones attached to their ears even when they're with somebody. Instead of talking to each other, they're talking on the phone!"

"I didn't think it was important until one day when my car broke down right in the middle of the street," said Mattie. "I looked around for a pay phone to call for help but couldn't find one. I nearly panicked until a lady came up to me and offered to let me use her cell phone. That convinced me."

I remarked that even if you don't use the cell phone much, it's good to have one in the home for emergencies. "Some organizations give cell phones to seniors for free. These phones are programmed to connect to 911."

As I was getting up to leave, Mattie said she was thinking about getting a 52 inch TV and giving her 32 inch to her daughter. "When TV stations switched from analog to digital signals, my friend Vera waited until the very last minute to change. She hated giving up those rabbit ear."

"Some people are afraid of change, especially technological changes," I said. "I guess it is hard to give up something we're use to."

"If it wasn't for the Wright Brothers, where would we be!" Mattie quipped. I love her sense of humor.

Mattie liked my iphone though I couldn't explain how it worked. She pulled out her ipod and showed me. "My granddaughter gave this to me. She put on all my favorite songs."

Here I thought I was there to persuade her to get tech savy, but she's way ahead of me.

Getting Rid of Clutter

2009-08-05T12:22:00.000-07:00

My house is cluttered. I've read all those articles about ways to get rid of clutter, still I hate to throw things away. "If you haven't worn it or used it in a year, toss it," the articles recommend. Easier said than done. Unless it is no longer usable or I can't fit into it, I keep it. You never know, I tell myself, one day...; Consequently, my wardrobe is stuffed with clothes I've worn a few times; my mantle is filled with objects for which I've managed to find a place. My life too, has been cluttered with people who should have been let go; grudges held onto because of some incident I can no longer remember; and mistakes I've made in the past that replay in my mind.

It is easier to get rid of objects and clothes than it is to get rid of people. Why would I want to get rid of people? I ask myself. I had an acquaintance who always had something negative to say about people and everything. To her, sunny days will inevitably lead to rain. If she's feeling good, she knows something bad is about to happen. If I say something positive, she counters with something negative. Persons who always have negative outlooks are best left alone to swim in their misery lest they pull you down.

Grudges, too, should be let go. We've all heard of the Hatfields and the McCoys who fought each other for generations over something their grandchildren can hardly recall. The consequences were devastating for all involved. On the world stage, wars are still being waged - clan against clan, tribe against tribe, country against country over some incident that happened so long ago, it is no longer part of their consciousness. In some cases, one side holds the grudge while the other side has moved on. Holding a grudge gets in the way of living in the present. I am not aware of the other person as an individual when I hold a grudge. I see only the hurt that person caused me in the past.

Similarly, I realize that letting go of mistakes I've made in the past allows me to face each new day with confidence. Sure, I'll continue to make mistakes, but with each mistake, I will grow because I will have learned. Regrets are also something most of us experience. The important thing I've found is to learn from the mistakes, forget the regrets and move on.

Finally, sweet memories are fine as long as we don't live in them; as long as they don't motivate our actions in the present. Living in the past prevents us from being in the now. Memory can cause us to hold onto those grudges, can stop us from exploring new vistas because of past mistakes, and can cause us to look for dark clouds in everything we do.

In celebrating the joys of life, we must be free to approach each day refreshed, renewed, and with the expectations that it's going to be grand.

Benefits of Travel

2009-07-23T13:37:00.001-07:00

I love to travel. It's in my blood. For most of my life I have traveled up and down the east and west coast of the U.S. and other parts of the world. As a child I traveled usually with my aunts to visit relatives down south, as we called it, driving from New York to Virginia several times during the year. As an adult living in California, my husband and I drove up and down the west coast exploring cities and towns from Los Angeles to Baja and up to Washington state. Once we drove from Los Angeles to New York and back, camping most of the way. It took us almost a month. We circled the U.S. stopping at campsites in the South, East, North, and West. We even ventured across Canada until it became too cold to camp in our little tent. On the whole, it was an invaluable trip. Not only did I get a geography lesson, but also it gave me a better understanding of and regard for the people and places that make up this country.

My first venture overseas was to Nigeria. Since then I've traveled to England, Spain, China, Mexico, Thailand, the Caribbean, Central America, Morocco and other places. And I plan to continue to see the world. Traveling to other countries as well as within the U.S. has enriched my life as well as broadened my perception of the world. When I first began to travel abroad, I was surprised to learn that people in other countries spoke more than their own language; for example to hear people in Africa speak fluent English, French, and their native language. To be fluent in other languages is part of their educational system. When I hear some people in this country complain about other languages being spoken here, I wonder if they understand how limiting it is to know only one language. I'm not saying we should all be fluent in other languages, but to recognize and appreciate that knowing another language enhances rather than diminishes you.

Travel expands your world if you take the time to learn about other people and to interact with them as one human being to another. If we stay in one area and know and care about only that area, imagine how close-minded we become. Viewing issues from a narrow mindset ignores the fact that the world is changing. How can we have an open discussion when we see things only from our own point-of-view? Travel has helped me learn to respect other people and their culture. It has helped me appreciate my own culture as well.

Finally, travel can help alleviate our fear of other people. Ignorance perpetuates fear. Understanding lessens it. Sometimes those who are most fearful of others unlike themselves are the ones who have not ventured outside their communities. It is important to get out and see the world. If you are open, if you can set aside judgement, you'll find your perspective will change, you will learn to value the diversity of this nation, and your life will be richer.

Journaling: an important tool for writers

2009-07-13T12:07:00.000-07:00

I began writing a journal after reading Anais Nin's Diaries years ago. I'd checked it out of the library and became fascinated with her account of her friendships with Henry and June Miller and other artists of the early part of the twentieth century. Before long I was hooked by that form of writing. Previously, I'd started keeping a diary, and on rare occasions when I could remember, I'd record my daily activities. Then I'd lock it, anyone who really wanted to see what I'd written could have easily opened the lock with a paper clip. However, after reading Nin's diaries (aka Anais Nin's Journals), I soon found that the small white book I'd purchased was too confining. I needed to expand from just listing my daily mundane activities. So I purchased a large notebook and thus began my years of journaling.

I now have volumes including a travel journal, one when my son was a baby and just learning to talk, a gardening journal in which I keep track of how my plants are doing, and my main journal in which I include some significant activities as well as how I feel about those events describing them in detail. I write poems. I write about heartbreak and breakthroughs. I rant and rave, laugh and cry. My journal is cathartic. When I go back and read my entries from years ago, I can relive the experience, though that is not always pleasant. I feel myself getting mad or feeling emotionally manipulated all over again. But sometimes rereading my journal helps me to understand why things went the way they did, and I remember people and incidents I'd long forgotten.

Keeping a journal is an invaluable tool for me as a writer because it lends authenticity to my stories. It keeps me from having writer's block. I don't need to search for ideas. I would suggest every beginning writer keep a journal. In it you could detail descriptions of people, places, and events. Practice turning narration into dialogue. In revisiting your journal for material to use for your stories, you'll see themes that can be used, conflicts that can be developed, and resolutions to those conflicts, all the elements that can be used when writing fiction and even non fiction. Most importantly, keeping a journal is good practice. Writers write. In my journal I don't worry about anyone critiquing what I write. I don't worry about correct grammar, punctuation, or writing in complete sentences. Most of all, I don't censor what I write and because of this, my writing is much freer.

Living Fully

2009-07-06T19:24:00.000-07:00

Frances E. Williams was eighty-nine when she died. She had been an actress, activist, organizer, and community worker among other things. Working with her on her biography, I got to know this wonderful lady who led such a rich life. From her I learned the value of living fully. By that I mean not being afraid to stretch yourself beyond the confines of what you know; letting go and experiencing the unknown; freeing yourself from fear, prejudice, age, or what other people will say. One of the prerequisites to living life fully is to know yourself. What makes you happy? What do you fear? What do you like to do? What are your strengths? What are your weaknesses? Answers to these questions can give you insight into your attitude towards life.

Being open to change is another important factor. If you are not open to change, you limit yourself.
Go back to school should you desire. learning is a lifetime endeavor. Whether it is to learn to play a musical instrument, sing, paint, dance, speak another language, or to study history or whatever you choose - taking a class can be a way to expand your world.
Don't let age stop you. Don't feel that you are too old. To that old saying, "you can't teach an old dog new tricks," I say, if you are open, anything is possible. I've heard of people getting their high school diploma and college degree in their eighties and nineties. The only things that may hinder is your health and/or finances; however, these obstacles can be overcome.
Overcome prejudice. Drawing conclusions based on unfounded notions. To live fully means not to prejudge people or expect a certain outcome. Prejudice creates barriers. Have you ever wanted to do something but were afraid of what others would think or say?
Understand fear. J. Khristnamurti said, "Thought breeds fear," and I have seen times when my thoughts have kept me from going to certain places or doing certain things which I was capable and prepared to do. "I can't do that," I'd tell myself. "Yes, I can," I'd counter. Recognizing my fear and facing it has allowed me to go through doors I never imagined I'd enter.
Going it alone. When I ws young, I wouldn't go anywhere without my friends. When they wouldn't go with me, I'd stay home. If I wanted to see a movie or visit a museum and they didn't, I'd give in and do what they wanted to do. Consequently, I missed out on things I cared about. As an adult, if there is something I want to do or some place I want to go, if I can't get anyone to go with me, I go anyway. While it's pleasurable having a companion to share in some experiences, I will not cancel because of having to go alone.

These are just a few things I tell myself in my attempt to live life fully. Recently I've learned to snokel and scuba dive. I'm also learning to paint and play the guitar. Watching my children grow, spending quality time with my husband are priorities, of course. But making time for me is just as important. When I live life fully, I teach my children to love life.

For more about Frances E. Williams, visit http://geocities.com/francesplace2001

The Joy of Aging

2009-07-01T11:58:00.000-07:00

I celebrate the joy of aging. Yes, there have been times when aches and pains made me not want to get out of bed some mornings, but there have been many more times when I look forward to my day and relish the chance to experience something new. A woman once said to me, "I don't tell folks my age because I don't want them saying "you're that old," or "You look so young for your age." Another woman said, "I've made it this far and I'm proud." It all depends on your perspective. I don't want to be defined by my age. After all, it's just a number. Not that I'm trying to hide anything. One look at me and one can tell I'm no longer a spring chicken, as the saying goes - the slowing steps, the spreading waistline, the sagging breast, the constant battle to cover that gray. Yes, I do color my hair. This reminds me of my aunt's adage, "...as long as there's Miss Clairol..." You get the picture. What's important to me is the awareness of life. Each day brings new joy, new things to learn and to experience.

Society is beginning to recognize that age does not define a person. One can be an old 35 or a young 70. Thank goodness for the changing attitudes. In my mother and grandmother's day, when a person reached a certain age, down came the hemline; dresses were shapless, heels were lowered, and hair was pulled back or worn in a conservative style. Today, no such restrictions are placed on us aging vessels of beauty. So let's celebrate the joy of aging. You are as old as you feel and as young as you think.