Tuesday, December 25, 2018

My Mother's Lipstick

When our mom died of cancer, my sisters and I were desperate to hold onto our memories of her. Over the next few days, we wore out her voicemail so we could hear her voice again and scrounged through her to-do lists for a memento of her thoughts. We divided up photos and letters. One sister kept her silver mirror, another, her cookbooks because they had always cooked together. 

But what did I want? I wanted to bottle her laughter, preserving in perpetuity our silly jokes. I wanted a soft blanket of her kindness to warm me when the world was cold. I wanted more time.

What I took was her favorite lipstick, slightly worn down and not my shade. The following year, on my son's birthday, I took it out of the drawer and put it to good use. While he slept, I wrote Happy Birthday on his bathroom mirror with that lipstick. I drew a cake and balloons and hearts. He started his birthday with a big grin on his face and was touched to learn it was grandma's lipstick. Now, every year, on everyone's birthday, my family starts the day with a lipstick celebration and feel the love their grandmother brought into their life.

The opposite of a Horcrux, that lipstick is an object imbued with love.

My oldest son, now an adult, happened to be in town for his birthday this year and settled into his old room for the night. Of course, he awoke to an elaborate lipstick panorama of birthday wishes on his mirror. After he left town, I saw that he had wiped his mirror almost clean. All that remained was a single lipstick heart. 

Wednesday, November 14, 2018


"So I'd like to know where, you got the notion…"

My brain likes to sing. I know that sounds like fun--except it's not. My brain gets stuck on one phrase, singing it over and over without any help from mouth or vocal cords. How does it do that? Is this what madness sounds like? When King Lear said that a person's notion weakens he meant they were losing their grip on reality. It shouldn't be surprising then that an antonym for notion is reality.

"Don't rock the boat, don't rock the boat, baby"

Notion comes from the Latin word notio (idea) and from notus (known) and is remarkably similar when translated into a number of languages, all of which use a variation of the word notion or idea. Seems like everyone has notions, wherever they live. Only in North America does notion also mean a sewing item, like buttons, pins, zippers, and hooks.

"Our love is like a ship on the ocean
We've been sailing with a cargo full of love and devotion."

A cargo full of love and devotion. Ah! Who wouldn't want that? We have The Hues Corporation to thank for this catchy song and lovely rhyme. What other words could they have picked to rhyme with ocean? Not as many you would think: Emotion or potion could have worked, but I don't see any possibilities when it comes to commotion, promotion, demotion, or lotion. Personally, I would have loved to see them try to use Laotian.

A notion can simply be an idea or it can be so much more. A notion can be an idea that springs to life because of your beliefs, your impressions, your opinions, and most importantly, your perception of the world. There's a Spanish phrase, cada cabeza es un mundo, which translates to each head is its own world. In other words, your perception of reality is your reality.

A notion can also be an impulse or desire, especially the whimsical kind. Oh, whimsical, you're one of my favorite words but, Shh…don't tell the others.

According to vocabulary.com, a notion is lighter than a theory and embraces a whimsy that a simple idea never could. If you share a far-fetched idea with others, someone might respond with where did you get that notion?

You just tell them, "Be quiet, I'm singing."

Friday, November 2, 2018


Everyone has a hobby, no matter how strange
It may seem to others who think you're deranged.
Collectors especially are looked at askew,
What's normal for them seems crazy to you.
An oologist collects eggs, which makes them quite reckless
Especially when they're eyeing your breakfast.
A dipterist collects flies, much like a spider.
If they spin their own webs, does that make them a writer? (Some pig!)
My hobby is harmless, I collect funny words.
And I'm gobsmacked by the ones I find most absurd.
English is chockablock with odd words, I'm chuffed to say.
I feel panurgic, like I could do this all day.
I'm not knackered or peckish, though it seems dodgy to you
I could lollygag all night on a word like jejeune.
The world is on fire and it may seem Quixotic
To spend my time on words so exotic.
If you prefer someone who seems like they care  
Find an arctophile, they collect teddy bears.
But I'm a logophile and I won't apologize.
Just be grateful I don't collect flies,

Sunday, October 7, 2018

Blast from the Past--The Witches of Eastwick!

Time travel with me to 1987 when the film "The Witches of Eastwick" debuted with its musical score by John Williams and its coven of lovely witches played by Cher, Susan Sarandon, and Michelle Pfeiffer. When the trio conjure up the perfect man (played by Jack Nicholson with a maniacal, diabolical flair) their lives spin out of control, delightfully at first, but then the danger becomes apparent.

Who will win this battle? Listen to me join the discussion on the Literary License podcast episode of "The Witches of Eastwick"--where we delve into both the book and the movie. 

You can find the podcast here:





Halloween Tradition :-O

In what has become my Halloween tradition, allow me to share with you a creepy little film that you shouldn't watch alone...

Before he became the iconic Joker, Heath Ledger spent a month in a hotel room trying to find the character. This film imagines that transformation.


Saturday, September 29, 2018

Being the change...:-)

For those of you who don't know, I have an alias: Barbara Markley. This is my maiden name and although I've been married for almost 32 years I still use that name for work and for my activist alter-ego. Yes, I'm an activist who is passionate about many causes but the one that takes most of my time is gun safety. When you live in a country where you are 25 times more likely to die from gun violence than in any other developed nation, and you live in a state (Florida) where a child is shot every 17 hours on average, you feel compelled to take action.

I started a program called Lock it Up!, a non-partisan program to protect children and teens from unlocked guns. This program is through the Broward League of Women Voters' Gun Safety Committee, which I chair. I was thrilled when WLRN, our local NPR station, did a feature story on our project this week. 

Check it out: 

Monday, September 17, 2018

The Bookworm Drinketh :-)

Love this blog! The Bookworm Drinketh not only reviews books, but pairs them up with alcohol. How fun is that? Their motto? Give Tea to the Tillerman, but booze to the Bookworm!

Thanks, Nicole, for the great review and for showcasing my guest blog post.


Sunday, September 16, 2018

Calling All Audio-Book Lovers :-)

Do you love audio-books? Then you should check out AudioFile Magazine, a great online source of audio-book reviews. Their website is www.audiofilemagazine.com. 

While you're there, you can read their new review of my audio-book, "Jeopardy in July (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery #5). They love my narrator, Fay Annette, and so do I.:-D


Wednesday, August 8, 2018


A modern-day genie, beautiful to behold
Spinner of dreams and broken promises

Make your wish, it will be granted.

Music, dance, math, science,

Friendship, revenge, sorrow, joy.

Crave love? Swipe right

Oh, how you need this

How hollow and empty you are without it

You can never let it go

Until one day you find

You are one with the genie

Another slave

Of technology.

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

Review of "Humans of New York: Stories"

A picture is worth a thousand words--but what if you could have both the picture and the story? "Humans of New York: Stories" is a balm for the soul, the antidote to the poison that afflicts our society in these troubled days. Each photo is a glimpse into the human spirit, into each of us, our hopes and fears, our dreams, our inspiration. I heard about this book from a friend who said he reads a story at random each night before he goes to sleep. The stories help ground him after each grueling day of terrible news and inhumanity. 

Not only are the photos beautiful and artistic, each captures a moment in time: a life poised to begin, a love lost, a love found, a dream fulfilled, or not. You'll laugh and cry and shake your head in wonder at these stories. You've met these people, you've seen them, you are them.

Monday, July 2, 2018

Free e-book promo 7/2-7/6! ;-)

Well, it is July, so of course the book on free promo right now is "Jeopardy in July". Beat the heat by staying inside curled up with a good cozy mystery. Pick yours up today. :-) Happy 4th of July!

Here is the blurb:

Old people were dying at an alarming rate at La Vida Boca, a posh assisted living facility in Boca Raton, Florida. With its sterling reputation, dedicated staff, and top-notch medical care, none of the deaths are considered suspicious, but when members of the poker club start to die under strange circumstances, attorney Jamie Quinn finds herself once again embroiled in a mystery. With help from her new friend, Jessie Sandler, and her favorite P.I., Duke Broussard, Jamie uncovers a crime that took place forty years earlier. Can she stop the killer in time? Or is she in danger of becoming the next victim?


Thursday, June 28, 2018

Free Audio-Book Download Codes! :-)

Good news for audio-book lovers, Audiofile Magazine has all the reviews and recommendations you need to find your next great audio-book. They also feature interviews with authors and narrators--it's a treasure trove of audio-book information!

Check out their wonderful review of my 4th Jamie Quinn Mystery, Engaged in Danger, narrated by the talented Fay Annette:

Finally, I'm thrilled to announce that my new audio-book, Jeopardy in July (Jamie Quinn Mystery #5) has just been released and is available on Amazon, Audible, and iTunes. 
I have 24 audiobook download codes for Jeopardy in July to give away to reviewers, so comment on this post if you would like a download code. :-D

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

Great Blog for Cozy Mystery Lovers! :-)

Cozy Mystery lovers, have I got a blog for you! Check out "The Cozy Pages" where cozy mysteries are reviewed with the "Espresso Shot" rating system. Personally, I'd rather get a Buzz rating than a Plain Hot Water or Decaf, lol! And today this lovely blog features a guest post by yours truly.  If you would like to know how a good mystery can be just like a sneeze, check it out. :-D


Thanks for the hospitality, Nina!

Friday, June 8, 2018

"Murder on the Beach" Mystery Bookstore! :-)


My new favorite bookstore:
"Murder on the Beach" Mystery Bookstore in Delray, FL! 
Great events and good taste in books. 
Those are my Jamie Quinn Mystery books on the shelf, by the way. Hooray! ;-)

Wednesday, May 23, 2018


Who would have thought this could happen to us? An economic superpower in our day and we never saw it coming. Okay, that last part isn’t true. They did try to warn us: the botanists and economists, the climatologists and even those pretentious foodies, damn them! But we refused to believe it. So spoiled and gluttonous were we that we couldn’t imagine such a vacuum in our lives, couldn’t imagine that one of our greatest pleasures, second only to, well you know, could disappear so suddenly, leaving us in a glassy-eyed stupor.

At first, there seemed to be no cause for alarm. Sure, a few high-end distributors declared bankruptcy and most of the artisanal boutiques quietly closed down, but that didn’t affect the rest of us. Even as the price started creeping up, we took it in stride, still happily gorging ourselves on a regular basis.  Every holiday was an excuse to buy new varieties created in whimsical shapes or mixed with exotic flavors like hot chili peppers, spicy ginger, aromatic curry powders or edible flowers. 
People even ate it on insects!  Now, why would I make that up? Others drank it in liquid form; some preferred it melted or frozen. Touted for centuries as an energy-booster, an antioxidant, and an aphrodisiac, it was all that and much more. In fact, some of the wealthiest ladies went to luxury spas so they could bathe in it! Isn’t that decadent? The flavors were so rich and complex that no scientist ever managed to synthesize it in the lab. Believe me, they tried. If I told you its name meant “food of the gods,” maybe you could start to understand the depth of our loss…  

In our defense, we had a lot of other problems to worry about. There were no world population councils back then so people could have as many children as they wanted. My own grandparents had twelve kids! The population climbed to 9 billion before we did anything about it. On top of that, the climate was changing and real estate which had been “underwater” due to the housing bubble was now literally underwater. Coastal areas were disappearing, Louisiana was sinking and the popular area known as South Beach was cut off from the mainland forever. At the same time, countries were locked in a massive power struggle over the dwindling supply of fossil fuels.    

Is it any wonder we paid no attention to those whining foodies? I mean, they were always complaining about something. If it wasn’t the shortage of truffle pigs, then it was the ban on pâté de foie gras or the counterfeit caviar flooding the market. Their concerns were so alien to the rest of us plebeians that we tuned them out when we really should have listened to them. Only the Doomsday freaks took them seriously and, naturally, they started hoarding the “food of the gods” because, well, hoarding was what they did best. Always preparing for the world to end, they saw no sense in going hungry while they waited. It was the hoarding that jacked the price up enough for the world to finally notice. 

Outside of our purview, the fragile crops that supplied the delicious elixir were dying from insect infestation, disease, and climate change, and demand was quickly overtaking supply. Speculators entered the mix and real panic set in. It became the hottest commodity in the world, even overtaking gold. Financial markets were so volatile that in West African countries, where the crop was cultivated, ripe pods became the new currency, just like in ancient times. Black markets sprang up everywhere and nobody could talk about anything else. Elected officials were besieged by rabid voters demanding immediate action. Riots broke out and the processing factories were looted for raw materials. Even natural disasters couldn’t distract people for very long…

I’m sorry, where was I? You’ll have to forgive me but ever since I reached my 115th sun cycle, my mind has started to wander. Oh, yes, the governments became involved but of course they only made things worse. Truthfully, I don’t know if there was anything they could have done anyway. Our best agri-scientists worked around the clock but, in the end, all they could do was bank seeds in all of the master seed banks and watch it play out. In only ten years, all of the crops were utterly decimated, never to return. Even the hoarders and black marketeers eventually reached their last precious morsels. And, because they had no choice, the people of the world adjusted, but there was a sadness that permeated everything, a yearning that would never pass, a taste that could not be forgotten…

I know you’re wondering why I told you this long story, especially today, when we should be celebrating your 21st sun-cycle and eating a feast of the best synth food in town, but you’re my only great-great-granddaughter and I wanted to give you something really special. Yesterday, I went to my Cryo-storage unit to get your gift so that it would thaw out in time. Here, please take this and remember to savor every bite: it’s like nothing you’ve ever eaten before and nothing you will ever eat again. Yes, it is a curious shape, it’s meant to resemble an animal that’s now extinct called a rabbit. I hope you don’t mind if I watch you take a bite, it would give me great pleasure. Oh no, please don’t cry! Like life, chocolate isn’t meant to last. Only the joy of experiencing it lingers on.

Tuesday, April 10, 2018


Our dog Abby suffered from Astraphobia, an abnormal fear of thunder and lightning--although she never called it that, at least not out loud. With the heightened sensory perception all dogs have, Abby knew when a storm was brewing and would start pacing the house hours in advance, searching for a safe place to hide that didn't exist. Fearless when it came to strange dogs or mailmen who dared approach our mailbox, Abby was terrified of thunder, shaking and quaking under the desk as she pressed herself against the wall. Even the warm presence of her sister Phoebe hiding beside her offered no comfort. Holding Abby close, soothing her in a calm voice, had no effect. The fact that thunder had never caused her a single injury didn't matter. This pattern persisted for eleven years until Abby succumbed to cancer one Halloween night.  

Abby was as smart as a dog could be, at least in my limited experience (I hope Phoebe isn't reading this. Sorry, old girl), but she didn't understand that thunder couldn't hurt her. She also didn't understand that cancer could hurt her, but that would have been asking too much. I can't say her fear was irrational as I'm not a dog, but I can say that it was a lot of wasted energy and unnecessary anguish. It made me think-- what was my thunder? Don't we each have our own thunder, some irrational fear holding us back, keeping us from our best possible life?  

My mother was afraid of lightning, planes, and evil people--but not in that order. Knowing that statistically her fears didn't warrant the time she spent on them didn't stop her, no, she was determined, a professional worrier with a reputation to uphold. Nobody was going to out-worry her, dammit. Getting her on a plane was always an ordeal. She would tell us how she was nervous, or she wouldn't tell us, but then remind us over and over how much she loved us, as if we were parting company forever. When I pointed out how silly this was, how she didn't flip out every time she rode in a car, she would shake her head at my ignorance. At least you can survive a car accident she would reply, Needless to say, she didn't die from lightning, planes, or evil people. It was cancer.

Of course, I could walk around afraid of cancer; that would be logical, but not productive. Day-to-day though, what was I afraid of?  Failure--that was a big one. Running out of time was becoming a theme when I realized my mother died when she was nine years older than I am now. Losing my memory terrifies me too. But fear of not living up to my own expectations may just be the winner.

What if I could let go of the fear and seize the joy I know is in there? The joy that elbows her way out when a baby laughs, a Blue Jay chases a squirrel away, or someone tells a funny joke. That joy I feel wading in the ocean, sand squishing between my toes, walking beside my husband and children. It takes practice, finding joy. It's not like you can wrestle her to the ground and pin her there like a WWE champ, you have to be gentle, coax her to walk with you. But don't forget to smile. She scares easy. 

Monday, April 9, 2018

The Cuddlywumps Cat Chronicles :-)

Miss Cuddlywumps (a.k.a. Miss C) is a completely fictional cat who has the great benefit of being both classically educated and familiar with mysteries. This rather large and fluffy calico is inordinately proud of two things: her piercing intellect and her white-tipped tail.

She also pens the blog The Cuddlywumps Chronicles, in which she explores cat history, cats in mythology and folklore, cats in mysteries, and cats in general. Occasionally she strays into a non-cat topic, if she feels that topic is worthy of her time and attention.

She was also kind enough to write a lovely review of Jamie Quinn Mystery #4, Engaged in Danger", which features Jamie's cat Mr. Paws, a/k/a Mr. Pain in the Ass.

Read the review here and check out this fun blog!


Friday, April 6, 2018


Can a brief encounter with a stranger change your life forever? Of course it can. You're rolling your eyes, I can see you. Well, let me tell you about Howard Parks…

This isn't the tale of an unsung hero--although, for all I know, Howard Parks has rescued people from burning buildings, performed the Heimlich maneuver on dozens of choking victims, and saved countless texters from oncoming traffic. Anything is possible. I'm not saying Howard Parks isn't heroic and inspiring, he is. If he weren't, my husband and I wouldn't speak of him so reverently; we wouldn't use his name in times of crisis; we wouldn't ask each other in hushed voices, "What would Howard Parks do?"

Twenty-four years ago, long before Equifax spewed your personal data into the world, including the name of your first pet, Hammy the Hamster, and long before Facebook gave away all of your secrets, right before they gave away all of your friends' secrets, Howard Parks was vigilant. I imagine he slept with one eye open as his brain conjured the many ways that things could go terribly, terribly wrong. He was British, which gave him an air of credibility. He was calm, which made him seem reasonable. And he was insistent, a quality many people found annoying, but which we found endearing in the extreme. It's why we love him.

It started when Howard Parks sold us a car over two decades ago, amicably agreeing to a price and shaking hands on it. We arranged to meet at the bank to seal the deal. As we completed the paperwork, Howard Parks asked the bank manager many pointed questions and requested copies of everything. The manager refused, stating that it was against policy to provide the seller with a copy of the check and that he would have to wait for it to arrive in the mail. Howard Parks explained politely but firmly that he wasn't leaving without it. Our eyes widened to see this challenge of authority, this rejection of societal norms, this refusal to budge. And it worked! Howard Parks won the face-off and entered our mythology, the first in our pantheon.

Now, when we encounter difficult people or situations where we might become lazy and careless, we utter the two words that always save the day--Howard Parks. His name also serves as an admonishment. When my husband didn't document a conversation he had with an airline and almost lost our ticket vouchers, I shook my head. "That's not how Howard would have done it."  His shoulders sagged with embarrassment, "I know." And when my husband drove two hours to go canoeing on his day off and surrendered his driver's license to the rental facility, he came home with the wrong license.

"I should have checked," he said. "I didn't know I had to be Howard Parks even on my day off."

I didn't say what we both already knew. You always have to be Howard Parks.

Thursday, April 5, 2018

Crazy Hobbies :-)

My dad inspired several of my stories. He loved this essay so much that he asked me to read it at his funeral, which I did, last Saturday. Art was one-of-a-kind and if you were lucky enough to know him, or own one of his masterpieces, then you were lucky indeed.  
                                                       CRAZY HOBBIES
           You think your childhood was normal, even now, when you should know better. The truth is that each family enjoys its own special brand of kookiness, including yours. Of course, I’m not talking about the people who end up on reality TV buried under all the stuff they couldn’t bear to part with. I’m talking about people who keep the “fun” in dysfunctional, the ones whose little idiosyncrasies provide great stories at Thanksgiving.  
In our family, we had a fondness for hobbies.  Actually, we didn’t but my dad did. And it was much more than a fondness, it was more like an all-consuming mind-boggling eye-popping breathtaking overwhelming single-minded focus. But even with all that, he didn’t forget about his children, no sir. We were all pulled into the vortex with him…
The first thing I remember is crouching down on our living room floor, immersed in a sea of coins, looking for rare pennies. In the beginning, my sisters and I had a great time rolling around in those thousands of pennies, throwing them at each other and cascading them from high in the air. But when our dad asked us to sift through them and separate them into groups according to their imprint dates, the fun was over. Now, before you start wondering if child services or the Labor Department had to get involved, let me just say-it wasn’t like that. Far from running his own sweat shop, my dad wanted us to love coin-collecting. He gave each of us a penny collection book with empty slots for every year, including the rare pennies, and then tried to make a game out of it. And it might have worked too, if only we could have paced ourselves, but our dad only has one speed and that’s full-speed ahead.  
From pennies, he went on to nickels, dimes, quarters and JFK half-dollars. He started storing bags of coins in our closets for when we “had time to look through them” (they may still be there). He dragged us to coin shows and coin stores all over town. He bought necklaces made from rare coins and gave them to my mother for special occasions. She would smile and thank him and then put them away. She may have even worn them to humor him because, even though we were all tired of coin-collecting, nobody wanted to squelch my dad’s enthusiasm. His quest for rare coins made him so happy. That is, until he discovered stamp-collecting. 
Rather than bore you with the details, let’s just say it was very much like coin-collecting only a lot easier to lug around. This time, he gave each of us a beginner’s book for collecting stamps and we soon graduated to having our own individual country. For some reason, I chose the Vatican, although I can’t imagine why. Their stamps weren’t pretty, just a bunch of popes. And it’s not even my religion…go figure.
While I don’t remember the rest of the hobbies in chronological order, I do know that they went from small to large, from being contained in our basement to taking over our house and yard. There was jewelry-making, which was kind of fun for us because we didn’t have to participate, and because we could always create a last-minute, unique birthday gift for a friend from the tons of beads, stones and materials my dad kept on hand. Then there was the “miniature” phase during which my dad furnished an entire miniature Victorian mansion from top to bottom (it was much nicer than our house), as well as assembled a miniature greenhouse with real plants in tiny pots. Ironically, it was the miniature greenhouse that led to my dad’s most expansive, most labor-intensive and most annoying hobby of all: cactus.
I can almost hear them groaning as they read this, our friends and family who were dragged into the dangerous and dirty world of cactus. I don’t mean to make it sound exciting, as if it involved espionage or working for the mob; it was literally dangerous and dirty. 
After purchasing one small cactus garden at K-Mart, my dad went on to fill the entire back yard with every kind of cactus and succulent known to man, building two greenhouses to house them all. To this day, I cannot explain it. They were the ugliest plants I ever saw, even when they bloomed. And they were everywhere:  every windowsill, every table and every empty spot in the yard. We could have lived with all of that (and, in fact, we did), if it hadn’t been for the dreaded… plant shows  
Several times a year, plant enthusiasts gather at weekend plant shows, ostensibly to sell their wares but, in reality, to schmooze & steal each other’s ideas. Not only was it  unbearably hot (the shows were outside, in Florida), but each show necessitated renting a truck and recruiting many helpers to gingerly pack up dozens of blood-thirsty cacti, knowing full well they would be packing them up again at the end of the show. This torture went on for years and only ended because my mother insisted they sell the house and move to a condo. I only hope the new owners never walked barefoot in the backyard…
Which brings me to the present and the wacky world of metal chickens. Although he was sad about razing his greenhouses, my dad quickly recovered and started taking art lessons twice a week. After painting dozens of oil and acrylic landscapes, still life pictures, portraits and abstracts, he switched from painting canvas to painting metal art.  Often using whimsical colors, he has painted hundreds of pieces including animals, insects, statutes of people, and some pieces that are so weird they defy description. My dad is quite prolific and generously donates many pieces to my favorite non-profit for their raffles. As a result, everyone I know owns a piece of Art (also my dad’s name).
Now I know that my childhood wasn’t typical, but, really, whose is? Although I often felt like the Karate Kid did when Mr. Miyagi gave him seemingly pointless chores, maybe I too learned something valuable.  And while I don’t have any crazy hobbies, I am enthusiastic about each task I undertake and give it all I’ve got. And for that, I guess I should say: “Thanks Dad!”
***This an excerpt from my book, "Quirky Essays for Quirky People"

Thursday, March 15, 2018

Audiofile Magazine Hearts Jamie Quinn! :-)

Jamie Quinn has an admirer, and it's not Kip this time--it's Audiofile Magazine, hooray! My new narrator Fay Annette did such a lovely job reading my 4th Jamie Quinn mystery, "Engaged in Danger", that it's no wonder they loved it. If you would like a chance to love it too, I still have some free download codes to give away. Just message me and it's yours. In the meantime, check out this great review and, while you're at it, read all the reviews in this excellent online magazine. J

Wednesday, March 14, 2018


Being a major Hamilton fan has its advantages. Hearing the music again in all its creative brilliance and high energy inspires me to do great things and to tackle tough problems--and not throw away my shot, of course. But it also has its downside--my mind becomes so over-stimulated that it sings Hamilton lyrics at three a.m. Rise up, rise up! I'm sure Lin-Manuel's intention wasn't that kind of rising up.

The song The World Turned Upside Down recounts the Battle of Yorktown, the most important battle of the Revolutionary War, the one that ended the fighting in the American colonies and ultimately led to The Treaty of Paris, which recognized the United States as a free and independent nation.Why was the world turned upside down? Simple, the colonies were the underdog, as Lin-Manuel elegantly explains it, they were outgunned outmanned outnumbered and outplanned, but they won anyway. They changed the world as they knew it.

Is it a coincidence that a generation of middle school, high school, and college kids, brought up on Hamilton, are turning our world upside down, staging their own revolution and threatening to overthrow the government that ignores them? It is not. And by overthrow, I mean vote the bastards out, exactly as our Founding Fathers intended. These wise forefathers tried to imagine every possible scenario and although they couldn't have foreseen the NRA's hold on our elected officials, nor the firepower of weapons of war in the hands of civilians, they understood power and corruption. They had faith that their system of checks and balances could withstand the onslaught and that good people would rise up. I think we can agree that our system of governing has never been tested like this before, but if our future rests in the hands of these brave children, the Founding Fathers were wise men indeed.

Monday, February 12, 2018

The New Me :-)

I was complacent, I'll admit it. Sure, I sent checks to causes I believed in and expressed my outrage on Facebook with angry emojis, but I was a 'Slacktivist' and I knew it. It didn't bother me much and I didn't have any sleepless nights. I figured the country could run itself and I didn't have any particular expertise to offer anyway. Oh, I had twinges of guilt occasionally and an annoying case of noblesse oblige, but I shook it off. Even when a cause got under my skin, I did nothing. I mean, what could I do? I wasn't the kind of person to attend a protest or slap a bumper sticker on my car. I never made waves because, honestly, I was kind of a chicken. What if someone confronted me about my bumper sticker? Did I really want to argue with strangers? What if I got arrested? My comfort zone had strict borders and after fifty-five years of living there, I wasn't moving an inch. 

My, how times have changed! I can even pinpoint the date--November 8, 2016, my first sleepless night. As a Jewish woman who lost relatives in the Holocaust, a woman married to an immigrant, a woman with brown children, a disabled nephew, and a gay nephew, I was terrified about the election results. I even broke up with a friend who had chosen to be on the wrong side of history. When I angrily told her that Nazis would soon be marching in the street, she scoffed. Although I was exaggerating to make my point, my prediction came true, to my horror. This constant barrage of attacks on the democracy I love (Yes, I love it!), as well as everything I cherish, and the people I care deeply about (including all the ones I've never met), have woken me the hell up.   

The metamorphosis of me is ongoing and my outrage fuels my activism. Attending the Women's March in Miami (I hate crowds, taking buses filled with strangers, sitting through speeches) changed my life. I found my heart filled with love for these total strangers and inspired by the words of the marginalized and persecuted. I was as fiercely protective of them as if they were my own children. When one of the speakers that day proclaimed if you come for one of us, you come for all of us, I cried. And that became my mantra.

Now I drive a car covered with bumper stickers; I wear a bright red Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America t-shirt and engage in conversations with strangers every chance I get. We talk about what’s happening in our country, what it means to us, what we can do about it. I always walk away inspired and hopeful. I am gathering petitions to restore the vote to 1.7 million disenfranchised Floridians and I know I will never miss another opportunity to vote again even if I'm 100 years old and on oxygen. I write postcards to people in other states encouraging them to vote, I attend meetings (LOTS of meetings), I send donations to candidates, I stay informed on the issues and pending legislation, I call my legislators constantly, I register people to vote, and I write op-eds like my life depends on it. Which it does. I not only attend protests, I also organize them.

When I look in the mirror, I ask in amazement Who am I? My reflection smiles back and says You are the person you were always meant to be.

Thursday, February 1, 2018

A New Year's Tale :-)

Ah, a new year, a fresh start, a resurrection of old resolutions with a few new ones thrown in, yes, that was my plan. But as we know man plans and God laughs and chaos is my middle name. I wish I could say no when someone offers me a new project, an exciting opportunity, or a crazy idea, but I live for that kind of stuff.. which is how I find myself in my current situation.

My tragic flaw is ergophobia, a fear of work. Frankly, it terrifies me--which explains my pathological procrastination. In my heart, I believe that all things will magically erase themselves from my to-do list if I just ignore them--and half the time they do. When that doesn't happen I wait until the last possible moment before allotting exactly the right amount of time to knock it out. This only works in theory since I fail to account for life getting in my way...

It started in December when I was on my computer and a tiny black hummingbird started zipping back and forth in front of my eye, literally IN my eye. How did a hummingbird get in my eye? He was cute, but incredibly annoying, so I called my ophthalmologist who explained that this was normal for a person over 55 and how I could expect light flashes as well. He insisted that I make appointments two weeks apart to make sure my retina wasn't torn. Sigh.

In the meantime, I had volunteered to take on three new projects, organize a monthly protest, write several letters to the editor, as well as a lengthy article; I  had a huge New Year's Day brunch to cook for, a potluck dinner and a potluck lunch; I had to finish an old project, start a new project and schedule my oral surgery.

Yes, after canceling the appointment three times, I finally scheduled my oral surgery to fix two problems. It wouldn't drop off my to-do list no matter how hard I tried, so I had to do it. To prepare, I picked up 6 (!) prescriptions from the pharmacy and made a chart as to when to take each one, It was complicated and was giving me a knot in my stomach. On top of that, my elderly father had fallen and broken a hip and was recovering at a nearby rehab center. We had hired an aide to stay with him, to make our lives easier, but I was constantly getting calls and texts about him. I'd just sorted out my meds when the aide called crying about the awful rehab people and then the other phone rang and it was the angry rehab people complaining about the troublesome aide.  

It made me laugh to picture their screaming match in the middle of the rehab, but I kept that to myself and calmed them down.

Today, I'm out of commission, oral surgery making me woozy and puffing up my cheeks. I'm eating squishy foods around the stitches in my mouth and icing my face with ice packs. There is good news though. I'm making no plans, taking on no new projects. Instead, I'm binge-watching shows on Netflix, but, luckily, I'm not alone. I have my hummingbird to keep me company.