The New Year 2012 wandered in last night welcomed by a sense of renewed hope. The weather has been incredibly pleasant for the turn of the year. Business and the economy seem better while news of new climatic and seismic disasters has been minimal. Should we go on tiptoe? I think not. Best we move while the moving is good and take advantage of the time and energy we have to renew friendships, mend walls, and generally make the most of it without going over board.

Wednesday we celebrated my cousin Betty Hampel's 84th birthday. In the past two year she's published two books: Mirror Image and Gumshoe. (What had happened was that when I published Jolt: a rural noir, Betty remembered she had five unpublished novels stuck somewhere in the closet, so she pulled out those two and tells me she has a third due out soon. Can't beat that!)

And then today we celebrated my paternal aunt, Marie Sicolo's, 88th! A good time was had by all.

What a wonderful feeling it must be to have gathered around you not only your three daughters and son and their various spouses, but also their children, and their children's children--Marie's great grandchildren! Happy Birthday Marie! And Happy New Year also to you.

I feel a bit remiss to have neglected this blog recently, however I have been blogging. If you are on my or the Alva Press Mailing list, you should be getting updates as to where you can read me in any particular week as I alternate my efforts among this one and the ones to be found on Alva Press, Inc., robertamroyonnuclearsurvival, and Mutterings of Alva the Indie at robertamroy.wordpress.com.

Yes, I do not forget you. It's just that I am something of a peripetic when it comes to writing to you. So do check out the links to all my blogs by going to en.gravatar.com/robertamroy and tag along with me wherever I go. I just ove your company.

Roberta in Po-Town, Wishing you a happy New Year 2012 filled with health, hope, and happiness!

 

This is not the first time I take issue with the Urban Dictionary. Also it's not the first time I find it has usurped, gutted, chewed up, and spat out a perfectly clear and workable term good for all ages and turned it into a booby trap for anyone such as myself, too busy to worry much about staying hep. (Checked hep in the UD and here in the East it still means stylish or cool. Whew!)

Turkeyed out, however, has been less lucky than hep. So let me explain to my readers who: 1. Never heard the expression. 2. Never had an American Thanksgiving turkey dinner. 3. Immediately apply the Urban Dictionary definition to turkeyed out--and to which the implication has been added that anyone who is turkeyed out is also a bit crazy and at any moment likely to do something grumpy or wild. Not so in my book. Not if one goes to the meaning of turkeyed out we knew as we grew up and as we still use it within the family.

Nope, turkeyed out meant that at Thursday's Thanksgiving dinner one had eaten turkey from a plate filled with anything from potatoes to stuffing to turnips to whatever suited your preference, smothered in turkey gravy. 

Thanksgiving evening, Dad would again dance out the turkey rack and there would be the turkey sandwiches. These could be hot with turkey gravy poured over them or cold with turkey, stuffing, and cold turkey gravy or cranberry sauce in them.

Friday lunch would slip by with hardly a ripple as everyone would still be filled from the previous day and Dad's fresh morning muffins. Maybe a piece of left over pumpkin or apple pie would do. And coffee. But by dinner hour everyone was starving so again, out came the turkey and assorted left overs.

Each family had their own way of reheating things. Some steamed them. Some baked them. In my family, my father would drag out two big frying pans. In one pan he would arrange one food so as to cradle another. That pan he'd fill with left-over mashed potatoes beside left over turnips and carrots  beside left-over sweet potatoes beside left-over potatoes. The second he would line with slices of the turkey pan-stuffing to be warmed in a shallow bed of water until it was all steamed and hot. The left over turkey by then was off the bone and sliced and he warmed that in the remaining turkey gravy. Then would be the traditional debate as to which was tastier--the left overs or the original meal. Most preferred the leftovers but regardless of our preference on that issue, we would cleaned up just about everything in sight.

Well, not quite everything.

After dinner, my dad would take the turkey rack, throw it in a large pot of water, and boil it until the meat fell off the bones, after which he would scoop out the rack and turkey meat, carefully remove any bones he found there, cut the turkey into small pieces, re-enter it in the broth, and once more bring it to a boil. Then he would add onions, carrot wheels, celery cuts, and rice or noodles. Et voila! The largest, most delicious pot of turkey soup to be found anywhere. In sum--Saturday's lunch.

Ah, but I forgot to tell you. It seems there had been a bit of sliced turkey he had not served. Not to worry. All my dad did was to prepare some cream sauce with a few pimentos that had been cut into small pieces for color and throw them into the sauce with the turkey cuts. This then took care of Saturday dinner. . . which could be done in two ways. The first was to toast some bread and pour the creamed turkey and pimentos over it. The second was pour the same mixture over baking powder biscuits.

As for Sunday, it was up for grabs. Either we were on our own, could rustle up salads, or help ourselves to a large bowl of turkey soup to be eaten with bread and butter that, being at home, we could just dunk into the broth in order to achieve the most luscious and delicious bite of broth-laden bread and butter one could imagine.

Later, when we lay back on the couch, sated and unable to move due to the amount of turkey and turkey products we had consumed over the previous four days, no one jumped nor acted crazy or grumped about anything. We couldn't. Indeed, we were turkeyed out.

Roberta in Po-Town, Gobble-gobble

P. S. Sometimes I think the Urban Dictionary is all just a bunch of gobble-gook.

My middle grandson is a beautiful boy. He's almost eleven, has yet to learn to talk, takes only sparing interest in socializing, and needs one hundred per cent attention of his caregiver if he is to sit at a table, eat and drink in a balanced way, and utilize his just emerging communication skills. So the way the family has worked it out is that he and his mom and his other grandmother and grandfather first share an early Thanksgiving dinner with him around midday to which he goes with his mom.

Later he and his mom and his maternal grandparents will join us for a second Thanksgiving dinner which his dad and I with the support of my two other grandsons will have prepared for the family.  At that dinner, my most special grandson will sit for a little while and with one hundred per cent attention for him at that time not possible, he will eat a bit and return to his favorite activity--wandering, With his portable CD player in hand and watching a favorite movie or show for the hundredth time, healthy and happy, and just occasionally, only mildly interested in socializing with the rest of us, he will wander the house to periodically come briefly into the room to look around for a few seconds before returning to his wandering movie-viewing.

I guess all family's have someone with special needs. We have my middle grandson.

The second dinner we prepare in stages. Last night it was hors d'oeurves, stuffing, and vegetable-preparation time. My son and seven-year-old and eleven-year-old grandsons and I did that. It took us four hours to: cut the and cook the turnips and carrots; prepare the creamed spinach with hard-boiled eggs; peel and cut the potatoes; mix the cream cheese and olives and cut and stuff the celery; and cook the sausage and crush the walnuts to prepare the stuffing for finishing today. My son did the stuffing, handled the turnip cutting, and ran general interference in the search for the proper pan or bowl. My oldest grandson stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me cutting and doing stove-top boiling of turnips and carrots and mixing the cream sauce. My youngest grandson peeled the potatoes and his middle finger lightly once. All-in-all it was a wonderful time, the results of which will make us all proud come five o'clock.

As for today, we bake the stuffing, pies, and turkey, make the gravy, boil the potatoes, and sit to eat at five o'clock.

My daughter-in-law is does what I call the decor: Last night she put up the Christmas tree. It took her four hours, but you should see it. It's a real balsam with perfect shape, hundreds of tiny white lights, and a long history of special decorations. Today it will add just the perfect touch. And whew, it's done!

Today my daughter-in-law will do the table settings. I always look forward to them. Each year they become if anything, just more beautiful. Ropes of gold leaves, a bowl of sparkling flowers--one never knows--but we all look forward to them.

Well, I have to go now. I usually help with the timing for cooking, you know--what goes on when--what comes out or off when. However each year I have less to do as my grandsons grow and the team becomes more experienced and communication requires less an less lengthy explanation. That said, Thanksgiving remains my favorite holiday.

Wishing you  a Happy Thanksgiving filled with good food and happy comaradie! 

Roberta in Po-Town, Cookin'

 

Sometimes I hurry to blog a bit of news or a fresh insight on an aspect of life. Other times such as now, I blog to blog. It's a bit like fishing. My thoughts float around over an apparently placid surface of life. I cast my line outward and wait for something to grab me.

It doesn't worry me that I haven't a clue as to where the line will lead me. I simply cast and wait. Let's see. The season? After all it is Thanksgiving week. Or how about work? Seems a bit of a downer just before a holiday. Or maybe politics? I can always kick up something there. Oh. I think I got one! Outliers! I love'em.

To tell you the truth, while some might judge me to be an outlier, I hardly touch to skirt of either being or becoming one. Michaelangelo and Steve Jobs were outliers. And Emily Dickenson. And Lucretia Mott. And maybe those who participate in the Occupy Movement. 

Why? Well, Steve Jobs was extreme in that he changed all our lives. Recall the days before the desktop with graphic interface and mouse? Can you imagine life without a mobile phone? Or the iPod? Or iTunes? Or even the iPad? Perhaps you are one who has never known life without these things--things we now almost take for granted. Well, we can thank Steve Jobs for all of them. Difficult to believe. But, yup. That's an outlier for you.

Then there is Emily. Sat around in that big old house associating only with a very small circle of friends and family and writing those itty-bitty crooked poems that resonated in so many hearts we still read her and wonder what makes her work so great--until we try to produce something in her style, and, well, it just ain't so easy.

And that's part of what makes Emily the outlier that she is and what makes her special. But then even if you don't like her work, you have to admire her fortitude and ability to hang in there as a small but irrepressible voice of a woman--when women were only just learning to read and write, so to speak, and male literature dominated the day.

Or Lucretia Mott: Quaker, Abolitionist, Feminist--in a time when being any one of the three might have made one an outlier But there she was, sitting in a Quaker school in upstate New York in good ole' Po-Town and advocating for the rights of slaves and women all in one breath--just another outlier.

Gotta' appreciate the steel Mott must have needed to stand up to the world and speak out when so few were. Yup. Makes me feel grateful just to know she was there to cut the path--and, as it was, just down the road a bit at Oakwood School in Poughkeepsie.

And now we have the Occupiers--outliers. Outliers all. But are they really? Or are they central to our culture? Maybe even more so than you or I? Maybe like Jobs and Dickenson and Mott with the difference between us and them mainly in just two areas: insight and leadership. 

Consider this. Leonardo DaVinci invented some flying machines--well, he drew some plans for some which, when one thinks about what constitutes a patent, is essentially inventing. He just never quite got around to building them. I suppose DaVinci was an outlier of sorts, even with flying machines, but not the kind of actualizer-outlier I'm thinking about when it came to them.

Now Jobs could have done the same as DaVinci with his notion of the desktop. And the mouse. Or, like DaVinci, he could have drawn the plans for an iPod and a mobile phone and made clay models of them and let it go at that. And then just maybe someone might have come along in the same way as did the French when they invaded Italy in 1498. You see, DaVinci had built a clay model of the 24 foot horse which when they invaded, the French destroyed; this then left Il Cavallo to not be cast before some 500 years passed and an art afficiado and outlier named Charlie Den started a dream fund that eventually enlisted the Tallix Art Foundry in Beacon, New York, to cast the horse--at a cost of $6.5 million--all in private donations--to be sent in 1999 as a gift to Milan, Italy, where it still stands. Except if Jobs had done that, we can't be sure anyone else in our lifetimes would have quite been up to the tasks he took on and we could all still be typing letters and using snailmail for our prime method of overland written communication.

The term outlier, is a funny term. You can use it as a perjorative or as a simple descriptor. For me, I like it as a descriptor. I not only find the term interesting, I also have a penchant for the outliers who change the world for the better. And as it turns out, I'm even happy to learn of those with little success who at least do more than talk to themselves in closets and who maybe knock at least a few particles this way or that for the better. At least they have dared to come out to talk to the world--even at the risk of ridicule and derision--as do the Occupiers.

Now if I were looking for some funny people, I wouldn't lift the flaps of the tents of those who participate in the Occupy Movement. Nope. I'd march myself right on down to D.C. and stop in and visit all those Representatives and Senators in Congress wallowing in a kind of ridiculous collusion with the rich whom to begin with the wimps are all just second-guessing as being among the most miserly people in the world and on whose behalf that same wimpy group in Congress would willingly starve 46.2 million people in the nation--Wikipedia statistic for number in the USA below poverty line in 2010--before they'd cut the military or raise the taxes on the top 1%--the same 1% who among them hold a third of the wealth in the country and probably, as such, wouldn't feel it at all if their taxes were increased even to levels levied in the 1970's--before the Bush-Reagan rich-mix tax cut flurry. 

As for me, I'm standing with the Outliers--Jobs, Dickenson, Mott, Charlie Den, and the Occupiers. Their hearts are in the right place and each has demonstrated the importance of creative, responsive, and caring leadership.

As for us? Where are we? Perhaps we feel too uninformed to make a statement? Or maybe we should wait for someone to pick up the pieces and build a better mousetrap when we're dead? Or are we talking to our neighbors? Writing to our Congressmen?

And me--I'm already thinking of 2012 and the fact that its an election year. And I've registered to vote. You, too?

Roberta in Po-Town, Wishing us a sanerThanksgiving 2012

 

With Hurricane Irene and Snow Leaf II behind us, it has become a truly wonderful fall--bright, clear, and relatively colorful. Love the weather! (No to mention the fact that my responsibilities as an SLP promise to be more readily achievable than they have been since starting a new caseload in September.)

Politically, it's an interesting time. Politics rather than disasters and war have become the topic of the day: the IMF, Greek elections, the economy in Italy, how Pakistan should best respond to the American draw down in Afghanistan.

Also local politics are interesting. Our city has changed hats as the Council went overwhelmingly Democratic. At the county level, however, there was a change in County Executive but no change in party. We went with the more experienced Republican on the ballot.

Meantime the Republican candidates for president are bent on knocking President Obama in his strong suit, foreign policy. That's probably because they really lack the answers to what currently is the larger question--the economy.

Well, you know where my vote is going come next November.

As for Alva Press, Inc., I am seeking a way to dedicate more time to developing it--not easy when one must work for a living. It sure would help if I were to find a really good PR person to help me out five hours a week--at top dollar, that is all I can afford. 

Big hurray! Kristen Henderson likes Alva Press's contract. Next week we'll meet over dinner in Roessleville to review and sign our agreement so Alva can publish her book of glorious poetry come the new year.

Roessleville is about half way to Cherry Valley where Henderson runs the Cherry Branch Gallery from Poughkeepsie, NY, where I live.

My take on Kristen's book, Drum Machine, is that it will take many awards! Already the poet, musician, and published author, Carl Waldman, www.goodreads.com/author/show/106099.Carl_Waldman, has written an insightful and enthusiastic introduction to it. Thank you, Carl!

As for my writing, I've decided to set aside Too Close for a while and try something lighter, a historical novel which I will call Two. Two is the story of a feminist activist in the 1970's as she advocates for the rights of women and minorities and struggles to balance her relationships with her daughter and husband with the demands of her need for a full time activist commitment outside the home. Based freely on some of my own experiences in The Movement--which at that time we called The Feminist Movement but which now is referred to as The Second Wave--it flows from my pen much more easily and, for that reason, is more fun to write. Just now, however, I had to put down the pen to research actual dates and events in that decade and its antecedents from the '60's, about which I am less informed.

BTW. Could I ask you a favor? If you get chance, do check in on GoodReads.com. It's a really nice free informational source on books to read and readers' opinions of them. And while you are there, do add another five-star critique or comment about my award winning novel, Jolt: a rural noir. 

Sales of Jolt: a rural noir, now available from http://alvapressinc.com in eBook as well as traditional form since I lost my PR person are lagging. But as word of mouth is a great healer and Alva Press needs a little boost that you could give it, I'm optimistic that this will not last long.

Yes, nothing beats the personal recommendation of someone you care about and respect.

I wrote Jolt: a rural noir because I care about you. Please care about me. Do sign onto GoodReads.com at www.goodreads.com/book/show/9076551-jolt and give Jolt a five-star plug. It sure would help!

Also, if you have not ordered your Trade paperback, hard cover, or eBook copy of Jolt: a rural noir, you can do it now. Just click the link for Alva Press, Inc. above.

Roberta in Po-Town, On waking

I'll be brief. It's time for bed. Still, there is time enough to say hello. No, I have not slipped from this mortal coil. I am alive and well. And publishing!

July slipped into August and now August into September and only now I raise my head to view the world again. The effort has been relentless and either I am on a steep learning curve or have become a slow learner. When not at Astor doing therapy or participating in brief visits with my son, grandsons, and sisters, I have been involved in publishing for Alva. Since June Alva has leapt forward: a small copying arm of the company has been initiated. The website has been totally redesigned--twice--once by a professional service and once by a digital designer with whom I have contracted.

Hurricane Irene, downgraded to a Tropical Storm has been through. The Alva  main computer has crashed--and been resurrected. We have learned to publish eBooks in ePub and Mobi formats so they can be used on almost all eReaders including Nook and Kindle. I have learned to accept and email large files and to transfer files to Nook and Kindle. Alva has completed her first major PR campaign with letters and follow-up emails to a couple of thousand contacts across the North American continent. WKNY in Kingston, New York, had me over for an interview on 'The Morning Show' with Warren Lawrence. It was fun. Warren asked good questions and invited me back to talk about Yell'n'Tell when it is released. That's the book I wrote for children in the primary grades. It's the story of a child who is secretly bullied by a friend and what he does about it.

And now as the Tenth Anniversary of 9/11 approaches, Alva hopes that people will take note Jolt: a rural noir, written to commemorate the impact of 9/11 and all we have learned about effective community response since then. Meantime, as the clock ticks toward midnight, I'd better close.

Tomorrow is another day.

Roberta in Po-Town, Takin' a breather 

 

Do I shoot myself in the foot when I write on three time dated blogs? Because I blog here and on alvapressinc.com as well as alvapressinc.com/robertamroyonnuclearsurvival, when readers note the dates on any given blog, am I perceived as a less than dedicated writer? Does my involvement in more than one blog suggest that I am fickle? -- Decisive, yes. Fickle, no. Just more interested in communicating seriously on three strands in my life. But definitely dedicated.

And will it further complicate the picture when my author publisher's blog moves to Alva's new site, ealvaink.com from which Alva's eBooks will be distributed?

Well, whatever the reader's take--I rarely hear from more than one or two of the hundreds--it ain't a gonna' change--except of course if there is some kind of an unanticipated outcry in response to this post.

So why do I list rhetorical questions, knowing that they remain for the most part for me to answer? Well, it seems I write not only to clarify my thinking but to help you the reader understand the rationale behind my blogging style and any apparent lack of commitment I make to a given blog.

Thie triforcated approach is comfortable for me and its appropriateness supported by visitor stats and the limited direct reader responses to date. As such, I believe the reader who prefers following this blog is more likely to feel a kinship with me the person as I know some are relatives. And some are old friends. For instance, it was because of the complaint of a lifelong friend about my use of colors in the earlier version of this blog that I changed them to these current, sharper-contrast hues. 

My friend's complaint was that her husband could not read the writing with the former palette as he is somewhat color blind. I changed them to these and they worked for him, which, BTW, I like better anyway. So thank you dear friend in CA! 

And I suppose not everyone wants to follow the throes of a publisher author and her company Alva Press or its developing subsidiary eAlvaInk. Just as I would guess that half the world is genuinely less than interested in discussing survival--particularly the nuclear kind. Yet hundreds are and as it turns out, while publishing draws a steady readership, nuclear survival draws significantly more. Which reminds me: I need to spread the word about eAlvaInk's soon to be released eBook form of Jolt: a rural noir on the http://alvapressinc.com/robertamroyonnuclearsurvival website/blog!

So there you have it: If you are interested in reading new blogposts from me on a weekly basis, you will need to follow the three:

http://alvapressinc.com -Author Publisher Blog
http://alvapressinc.com/robertamroy - Personal/Political Blog
http://alvapressinc.com/robertamroyonnuclearsurvival - Nuclear/General Health and Survival Blog

Or perhaps you are happy to just check in once a month on one of the above blogs you find of interest. Whatever suits your fancy, just remember you are always welcome.

Also, would you e so kind as to click the comment button and say hello or comment once in a while? On the survival blog can sign the guestbook found on the extreme upper right of the page. For the other sites, the comment button is below each related blog entry. 

As the comment buttons are easy to miss, please look for it. And do drop me a line sometimes. It would be so nice to get to know you better!

Roberta in Po-Town, Happy to chat

The first time someone called me an 'author', I did a double take. Then with blogging and the Alva site expansion, the appellation 'author publisher' at first sat a little oddly. Now with eAlvaInk, the singular reference 'publisher' makes me feel like a little girl wearing her mom's high heels. Very sexy. Very exciting. And very complex.

I like building a company. Especially my own dear Alva Press, Inc. or 'Alva' as I fondly refer to it.

Recently the cadre of cohorts dedicated to Alva's growth through eAlvaInk has mushroomed with the addition of a designer, a public relations person, and some support staff to help with mailings and paperwork. And this weekend I roped my son, Stef, into it being in charge of electronic purchasing and associated scanning, copying, and printing. He's really good with all things electronic as well as things like cover design.

These changes follow close on the heels of Alva acquiring a business phone/fax with a super easy to remember number: (845) 454-5200.

Who knows where it will end?

And what's next?

Well, in the short term, Alva will publish Jolt: a rural noir as an eBook through eAlvaInk to be distributed through Alva's website. Also Alva will contract with outlets like Barnes and Noble, Amazon.com, and Apple for uploading through Nook, Kindle, and eReader. Naturally Alva will also use the largest eBook aggregator of them all to get Jolt: a rural noir out to the reading public: Smashwords.

Following that, the game plan is for Alva to also ePublish Roy's children's book, Yell'n'Tell. And, although it is not possible on all tablets and readers, of particular interest to Roy is the potential for its distribution through Kindle as an audiobook.

And while all this is happening, Alva actively solicits books by other writers interested in eBooking through eAlvaInk.

Is it any wonder it is a month since I blogged here?

Nonetheless, I have added an excerpt from Lily White Lies by Kathy Reinhard to the Alva PressVisiting Writers page. And the invitation to other writers to submit excerpts from published works and a brief bio for inclusion there, too, stands. (Guidelines are 150 word excerpt, 25 word bio with link.)

And I do try to keep up with Alva's Author Publisher blog.

So do come over to http://alvapressinc.com as Alva would love you to just read and browse there.

You know how Alva is--just loves to entertain.

Roberta in Po-Town, at eAlvaInk

Oddly and unexpectedly I found the ninety minute filmed tour of the quarter of a mile of pristine Chauvet Cave in southern France, Cave of Forgotten Dreams, particularly moving. What struck me was how the speaker, speleologist Jean-Marie Chauvet, was able to discuss the art and the life behind the art and very skillfully to tie it to the situation in the world today, where evolution continues to move life in paths not always most promising.

Among the ups and downs of life, Chauvet noted that while humans in the Paleolithic period painted and played small flutes, there is no evidence that the Cro Magnons who inhabited the earth for a time concurrently, did either. But of greatest interest to me was his speculations as to the thinking of the people who visited this cave some 32,000 years ago. Given that the venus figure found there morphed from human lower body to animal head and that an apparent alter with the skull of an animal place careful facing out upon it he was able to infer several likelihoods.

Chauvet’s inferences included what he referred to as the concepts of  permeability and permanence. By permeability I understood him to mean that the cave people viewed life as a continuum without clear demarcations among the concepts of man, animal, and nature. That said, it suggested a sense of early spirituality wherein it was natural to build an alter, albeit adorned by the skull of an animal, and thereafter to light small deferences of incense about it. This had been suggested by the evidence of small sites about the alter that appeared to be where incense might have been burned.

But the idea of permanence seemed to me, a speech language pathologist, of even greater significance as in human development it is a later developing concept. Once one has the concept of permanence one is able to speak of now, then, and the future. One can experience more sense of responsibility for things now, a sense of regret for things past, and, perhaps most importantly, a sense of tomorrow.

Further, it is because of our sense of permanence that we can learn from our mistakes, enjoy today, and plan for tomorrow. In a sense our own personal ability to evolve into wiser, more responsible, and better informed persons would not occur with our strong sense of permanence. As such we can imagine the cave dwellers of 32,000 years ago picking up a charred stick to draw on the cave wall what he or she saw that morning in order to help the group to plan for the afternoon’s hunt or the cave’s defense.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams ended however on a rather wrenching note. Twenty miles from its site is situated the largest nuclear power plant in France. Its warmed waters leach from and back into the river on which banks it sits. Not far from the plant, an enormous greenhouse sits, warmed and irrigated by the steam from the nuclear power plant. Into this environment alligators have been introduced and thrive there. Large and fertile they reproduce with ease, their offspring totally white mutants, just one more step in the evolutionary chain, this time however possibly prompted by not only the warmed atmosphere of the nuclear power plants steam, but also by its radioactive elements.

Roberta in Po-Town, Words Fail Me

With my personal life so overtaken by my deeper sallie into publishing, I find my personal life becomes more and more the subject of my writer publisher's blog at http://alvapressinc.com Also, time becomes more and more of the essence as it becomes more and more challenging to just sit down and think about me without considering Alva Press. Which brings me around to a concept I came across in my rereading of Why We Make Mistakes by Joseph T. Hallinan. Love that book!

Apparently after ten or so years of study on the causes of happiness, Hallinan tells how a man named David Schkade and some of his colleagues concluded that not money but time is the currency of life. So happiness is not found in what one does, but how one spends ones time.

I can go with that. Hallinan suggests that much of being happy has to do with being in sync with the life and times of those around you. So, for starters, he suggests that if one moves from New York to Texas, one can be happier if instead of looking for bagels one learns to love the rodeo. And I can see that. Which is why I have never been a tourist. At least not from my point of view.

Sure, I lived in Paris for three months, Heidleberg for three months, Italy for three months. And yes I studied in Granada, Spain, a few weeks here and there. And worked in Virginia for a year. And North Carolina for three months. But note: no place do I mention the word visited. It's not my style. I live--acclimate. Which is one of the reasons I guess I am usually pretty happy. And I not only like change, I adapt to it--even thrive on it. That, and doing my thing.

Currently my own thing comes in three categories: work (to earn what it takes to do what I really want to do more), publishing (which I find really both challenging and interesting), and spending time with my family (especially my eleven and seven year old grandsons).

(Notice how I adapt--I mean certainly if I had the means I'd quit work tomorrow, spend time with my grandsons five times a week, travel a bit and muddle around in publishing much more than I do.)

Yes, and I would definitely throw in some extended times in North Country, North Carolina, and maybe next time around, Porto Rico--which I prefer spelled Puerto Rico.

Nonetheless I'm fine. Just spending the currency of life the best I can to keep me and my family safe and happy.

Roberta in Po-Town, Thinkin' toward June break

Today I chatted by phone with my cousin Betty Hampel. Her mom was the first of the seven daughters my grandmother Milan bore. My mom was the last. So Betty and I talked about the late 1920's and early 1930's while my mom was still a child.  And about how poor everyone was. My grandparents who had sold their home in Scarsdale and purchased a farm on Blueberry Hill in Poughquag, NY, had lost the farm in the Great Depression and my mom's dad had to hire out. So he became the head groundskeeper for Woodcliff Pleasure Park where they lived for some years even after it officially closed.

As for that whole turn, it had initiated when Johnny, my grandparents only son, died of Black Measles in 1899 and my grandmother decided she would birthe no more children in the disease infested confines of a city. So Mother--as grandad and all of her daughters referred to her--and Dad--has my aunts referred to him--took Marion and moved to the mountains of Dutchess County. There they raised to adolescence seven daughters, six of whom my grandmother both birthed and, for the most part, delivered there herself.

But getting back to Marion's daughter and my first cousin, Betty, after The Crash of the twenties, Marion also had to hire out as Rex Doolittle, Betty's dad, had gone to Elmira to work and Grandma took in Betty while Marion worked at the then Hudson River State Hospital situated, as it was, close by across the road from the park.

Betty reminisced about her life as a child at The Park, as we always refer to it, and how much fun it was riding the merry-go-round and in some kind of a bullet-shaped seat that zipped up and down and around on a ride that my uncle Charlie Benton ran. But fun aside, Betty missed her mom and many a day she wandered to the iron gate beside the road to gaze longingly through it and across the road at the walls on the hospital grounds that so passively hid her dear mother, holding her near prisoner most days and nights as employees were only granted one weekend off per month and the position was--if one can imagine--live in.

No wonder when the economy picked up and Rex came home Marion, Rex, Betty, and Elsa first chose to live in a large house on Mansion Square in Po-Town, but as soon as the situation permitted, took off for the country, eventually to live in the more open mountainous parts of Vermont. Only Betty gravitated to the cities, eventually settling in Middlebury, VT, where she and her husband became professional artists and portrait painters--and Betty wrote five or six books only two of which she finally got around to publishing in the last couple of years: Mirror Image and Gumshoe.

But back to The Park. My maternal grandad, Robert C. Milan (Moylan) was head groundskeeper for it and my mom--who was twelve when they moved there from Blueberry Hill and Poughquag Mountain--was already a sharpshooter with a 22 rifle. So while Betty road the Merry-Go-Round, my mom entertained herself driving my grandad crazy trying to figure out who was shooting out the lightbulbs that crowned its top.  

Which all brings me around to some exciting news! Just yesterday I received an announcement from Wes and Barbara Gottlock of the release of their new book Lost Amusement Parks of the Hudson Valley which features a part on Woodcliff Pleasure Park! As I can't wait to read it, I've already ordered a copy for myself from http://gottlockbooks.com and I'm sure most of my sisters will do the same.

Not long ago, I talked to Wes about the possibility the Schenck brothers had been involved in Woodcliff in some way as my grandmother, whose maiden name was Marie Teresa Schieck said Joseph M Schenck of movie producer and amusement park supporter fame was her brother. But Wes and I agreed that while it had once been a light speculation on my part, that was all it was, and how my grandparents arrived at Woodcliff had nothing to do with her brother, Joseph M Schenck, from whom she had been separated as a child when they were orphaned in NYC.

Of her sisters Bessie, Ottelie, and Marga, we have almost no trace beyond the fact that with their mother, my grandmother, and Joseph, they immigrated together to NYC from Amsterdam in 1885.

Roberta in Po-Town, Waitin' for my book

Mother's Day. I'm a mother. Yesterday I sent out some e-greetings wishing a Happy Mother's Day to some mothers with whom I email. It got me to thinking. Some mother's don't have access to email. Some women are not mothers. Some mothers's children no longer live at home. And then this morning I got an email from a father asking me to vote for him in the Circle of Moms Top 25 Blogs competition for single parents at http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/single-parent?trk=t25_single-parent So I clicked on the link. What happened was a hint to the way the internet can catch us.

As I began to click and read onThe Circle of Moms, I realized I had never before read blogs I had not written. And as I read, I was reminded that although I did not divorce before my son was eighteen years of age, I, too, am a single parent and like the majority of single parents on the blogsite, a single mom. One single mom I found particularly creative and fun was at http://pepperrific.com/.

But there were also single dads on the site. One such that I just wanted to hug was at http://www.1andahalfmen.com/.  He seemed so open and aware. I liked that.

But now, having read through a number of really great, generally 'short' blogs, I suppose I should rethink my blogging. I know I prefer 'longish' blogging, but should I be happy with the rather hum-drum format of my blogs? Do I need an index? Should I include more pictures? Should I invest more money and hire someone to add more zip and zing to them? Should it be more competitive? What's more competitive? Do I really want to compete? With what? Why?

Somehow I liked it better when I thought my blog was the only one on the net. But that's okay. I never did like to compete. And besides that, I'm my son's one and only mom and that's good enough.

Roberta in Po-Town, A Single Mother

In responding to my non-blogging responsibilities, I have found the demands of publicizing Jolt: a rural noir and meeting my professional responsibilities as a speech language pathologist at a residential school for emotionally troubled children last month pre-empted any time for personal blogging. And although I was able to get in some fun family time, the last week of April I hit a weekend only to find myself stunned by Brain Drain. 

I suspect not everyone has experienced Brain Drain, but I have heard the word rather frequently from other writers. When it occurs, for me it seems my expressive skills suffer in conversation primarily due to difficulties with word finding. Thankfully it has been only a rare occurrence in my life as it is only rarely that the writing I am required to do results in such a depletion of energy in the areas of the brain associated with expression. For Brain Drain to occur for me requires a week of relentless writing. For instance, when I was working on Jolt: a rural noir, any time I wrote more than four five-hour days a week did it. Last week also did it.

To begin with it was the last week of the month--the week in which end of the month reports are required to be completed. Then there are the daily logs--that's six to eight of them per day. Also there was a request from the principal that I talk at the next faculty meeting about communication accommodations for deaf and hearing impaired students--including the subtleties of preferred seating and how to increase the child's likelihood of being able to speechread what is said. That was three typed pages in addition to the end of the month reports. The EOMs were written for some eighteen to twenty children. As such, the amount of writing that was associated with the 36 to 40 sessions of individual therapy I provided, zapped my expressive skills and brought about the proverbial Brain Drain.

And to add to Drain, in the evenings, when I wasn't cooking and doing essential household chores, I spent my time at the computer preparing for the presentation of Jolt: a rural noir at Book Expo of America (BEA), to be held May 23-27, 2011, at Javits Center in New York.

The initial impetus to become involved in BEA came when Jolt: a rural noir became a medalist for Inspirational Fiction in the Jenkins Living Now Awards and I was invited to the Awards Ceremony that will be held on Monday, May 23, 2011, in conjunction with the BEA.

The Inspirational Fiction Award gave me hope that people might like the book, and my tax refund came in so I ordered up the chance for Jolt: a rural noir to be displayed by both Jenkins and Bookmasters at the Javits Center. Sounds easy. Send a check and a copy of the book and it's done. Wrong.

One has to remember we are now in the e-age and there are these electronic forms which, incredibly, all worked as smoothly as silk, except to complete them required research--ISBN number, cover image, best distributor contact--the list goes on--and each item required a tiny personal search either of papers or in memory to complete. And then there were the emails and the trips to the post office and then someone asked for a copy of the book, and I decided I really needed to get Alva Press, Inc., its own charge card-more forms. And there were also the trips to the bank to shift money from my personal account to the Alva Press, Inc., account, and to deposit the proceeds from having sold a few more books along the way.

But, whoops, I forgot. There was FaceBook and LinkedIn and Twitter needed that also needed to be fed. Depending on my mood, I use them to comment personally, politically, and professionally and to keep touch with some friends and colleagues. But to use any of them, one must also write.

And then toward the end of the week I heard the sad news of the death of the husband of a very dear acquaintance and friend. He also had been a friend of mine and his death touches me deeply, for her as well as him.

So by Saturday I had had it.

Thank goodness for my sister W. She loves me no matter what shape I am in and on Sunday we took off for New Paltz to take in the sun and celebrate Earth Day with the New Paltzonians so by Monday I was once again good to go--still a bit zapped but at least my old verbal self.

Next time I will talk about the Blind Stares. They are the antithesis of Brain Drain and occur after endless reading, outlining, and preparation--such as is done before a semester begins in which one is to teach a new college level course. I and some other dedicated professors I have known have suffered that temporary state of mind at sometime. I haven't had the Blind Stares since I left college teaching back a number of years. Unlike Brain Drain, Blind Stares affects the receptive aspect of communication while expressive language and word recall remain in tact. I wonder if there is any research or discussion of these entities in the literature of psychology and neurology of behavior. If there is not, then I think there should be. Any psycholinguists out there with a comment on either Brain Drain or Blind Stares?

Roberta in Po-Town, Mumblin' 

Cheating today. Decided to embed a letter to the editor I wrote this morning regarding the budgetary discussions in Washington in a blog I posted on http://alvapressinc.com/robertamroyonnuclearsurvival that I am now posting here with the introductory suggestion that if you decide to read to the end you will then have a notion as to how I am able to compartmentalize and layer my life as expressed through my blogs, this one being generally the most personal one. And here is what I wrote:

I'm aware that my intent with this blog has been to primarily to raise our understanding and awareness of nuclear and other issues related to survival and, at the bottom line, healthy living. However, as the feminist Kate Millet suggested with her book Sexual Politics, just breathing can be political and the issues under discussion in Washingon are too important to pass up without considering how the Federal Government spends our tax dollars.

My original plan for this blog was to discuss safety standards at nuclear reactors and our need to move more toward increased reliance on clean energy except I found that in good conscience, I couldn't do that without also discussing the current tax picture. Also, had the discussions in Washington had less of an Alice-in-Wonderland quality to them with some of the Congressional freshman seemingly going around repeatedly yelling, "Off with their heads," I might have done so. But such is not the case. And so below I include the content of a Letter to the Editor I wrote this morning expressing some of my own personal views on where the money should and shouldn't go. 
 

As the Federal Government wrangles with the budget, let’s tell our representatives: we’re tired of having more than half our tax dollars go to the military; we do support Medicaid and Medicare; and we do like the little guy.

Let’s say, “Cut back our military involvements arms build up, the cost of which –missile by missile – drains our coffers and drags us into deeper debt. And bring our troops home!”

And yes, we do want to decrease time spent on Medicaid-Medicare documentation and to redirect those savings into recipient care, thereby significantly reduce the Medicaid-Medicare cost per enrollee. And yes, do raise the taxes on the rich—that top ten per cent of the nation that owns ninety per cent of the wealth whose taxes over the past fifty years have instead been regularly lowered.  And yes, we do want unions to have the right to negotiate terms and conditions including hours, responsibilities, salary and benefits.

While extreme distracters to the right consistently move the discussion away from the real issues—health and safety, family stability, the right to work, clean environment—we need to speak out clearly through their noise: No new nuclear plants. Give us CLEAN ENERGY: water, wind, geothermal! Give little guys a voice—especially as in states where there are unions, while workers may be happier, salaries tend to be lower—so unions are not all about money.  And for goodness sake, bring our military home!

Roberta in Po-Town, Doin' the Right Thing

I picked up the March 11, 2011 edition of Time for Kids. Its cover read, “10 Most Important Women of the Century.” Which century, I wondered? March 2010-2011? 2011-2012? Opening it I found it to be the former. Nice I thought.

I began to read:  Jane Addams (1860-1935) pioneer in social work; Marie Curie (1867-1934) Polish-born scientist  and recipient of the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1903 and in Chemistry in 1911 paving the way for the treatment of cancer with radiation and women in science; Rachel Carson (1907-1964) author of Silent Spring about the danger of pollution and chemical pesticides which kicked off the environmentalist movement;  Mother Theresa (1910-1997) winner of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979 for her charity work in India with the poor and sick; Rosa Parks (1913-2005) civil rights advocate who demonstrated the power of peaceful protest; Margaret Thatcher (1925-present) Britain’s first female Prime Minister; Sandra Day O’Connor (1930-present) state senator and first woman on the U. S. Supreme Court; Angela Merkel ; (1954-present) physicist/German Chancellor/Statesperson;  Oprah Winfrey (1954-present), born poor became entertainment star, author, business woman and philanthropist. Hmm.

And then I read the headline for the spread, “Women’s History Month Special Issue: POWERFUL WOMEN,” and it did not sit well. Why POWERFUL?  And why POWERFUL in upper case letters? Like someone was yelling? And I wondered how other women felt about it? And men? But I posted it on the wall in the hall of the school anyway.

Still my reaction to the phrase would not dissipate. So I tried it to see how it would feel if I wrote POWERFUL MEN.  Hmm. Never saw that before. Wonder why? Then I got it. It’s the redundancy.  How’s that? Well having grown up in an era when women in academia were rarely mentioned in books and most of the writers we read were male, there was no need to drive home the point that men had POWER. We lived it. Breathed it. In those days the concept of the glass ceiling for women had not even become a twinkle in a anyone’s eye.

Next I went through how I use the word power. Powerful punch.  The United States is a world power. Germany is a world power. Explosive power. Nuclear power. Powerful muscles. Power to move an object. Power to lift something. Hmm. None of these really seem to apply to women. In fact the only power that came to mind in reference to women was something to the effect of, “Whew! That was some powerful perfume!” Translation: “Thank goodness that awful smell is gone!”

And then I got it. It has to do with framing. It’s a concept I just learned recently. Like the difference between calling a kid who took a cookie a thief and calling your broker a thief.  Or the difference between saying, “She is very sweet,” and “He is very sweet.”  And just to make my point, I am going to take the paragraph that lists the women named and include only the attributes listed after which the choice is to include all the things listed as among things powerful and in so doing re-do the definition of POWERFUL or find another word or groups of words that are a better fit. So here goes:

“Pioneer in social work; scientist  and recipient of the Nobel Prize in Physics and in Chemistry  paving the way for the treatment of cancer with radiation and women in science;  author of Silent Spring about the danger of pollution and chemical pesticides which kicked off the environmentalist movement;  winner of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979 for charity work in India with the poor and sick; civil rights advocate who demonstrated the power of peaceful protest; first female Prime Minister; state senator and first woman on the U. S. Supreme Court;  physicist/German Chancellor/Statesperson;  born poor became entertainment star, author, business woman and philanthropist.”  So let’s see. Five of the women have references to pioneer-kicked off-first female-paved the way-first female.  Two were scientists. Five were involved in social causes and philanthropy. Three became elected officials. One became a U. S. Supreme Court judge.

So my vote is for the notion that the article might have been better named “Influential Women.” I say this because I believe that although I would love it if it were to happen, it will be quite a while before the average person is about to understand that powerful has a meaning associated with being either the first female, a Nobel Prize winter, a scientist or anyone in America involved in environmentalist, social, and civil rights issues. 

Roberta in Po-Town, Nuff’ said

It's like pop corn out there. Difficult to keep up with the breaking news. Hard to know where to look. What to zero in on. I peruse reports. Online. In the papers. I try to sift through them for some sense of perspective. My current thumbnail summary of the world situation at this time is as below.

Presumptuous of me, I know to even attempt such a statement. But I figure we are all trying to do the same thing. And it helps me feel less at sea in it all if I can sift through and share the crumbs of my findings.

First it was the Middle East with one country after another standing up for change. Tunisian President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali was ousted and exiled to Saudi Arabia. Next came Hosni Mubarak stepping down in Egypt. Then rumblings in Bahrain, Yemen, and even Saudi Arabia. And just when things were looking hopeful for the advent of relatively peaceful change, in Libya, up stood an armed Col. Moammar Gadhafi claiming his people loved him and firing at them between phrases. And the best I can do to understand is to at minimum try to remember the countries and their leaders names and to keep straight whether in any given Moslem country on any given day it is the Sunnis or the Shiites who are in power.

And here in the United States we continue to struggle with the economy. With others I, too, wonder when we are going to tax the rich as they should be taxed? Or cut the military outlay to less than fifty per cent of the national budget? Part of our desperation spewed forth in some rather ugly Wisconsin legislation that resulted in the occupation of the building housing the Congress there. And sad and awful as it is, it has an almost Keystone cops aspect to it-- what with the Wisconsin Democratic Senators hiding in Rockford, Illinois, to prevent passage of the self-serving laws of the wealthy and powerful that are designed to reduce the power of unions and the little guy.

But one has to admire the inventiveness and integrity of those Dems in Illinois standing up with all their might for their beliefs, regardless of what the world might think of their run for the hills. But then the Wisconsin Republicans circumnavigated the challenge by separating the abridgement of union rights from fiscal proposals and, even in the absence of the Democratic Senators, the law was passed.

Until Friday, so to speak. Because then, just when we were wondering what would come of it all, the brave Dane County Judge Maryann Sumi granted a temporary restraining order to stop the Secretary of State from publishing the law which had already been not only passed by the legislature, but signed by Republican Gov. Scott Walker. 

And now, at least for a time, pending a final decision on its fairness and the Constitutionality of its manner of passage, the bargaining rights of unions are not abridged and Democrats seek the call back of some of the Republican Senators who supported it. That includes Walker--once he becomes eligible for a call back at the end of his first year in office.

Yet all of the above, so crucial to so many, pales before the specter of the distruction caused by the Tsunami in Japan--most particularly along its Northeast coast. And now people around the world hunker down to determine what exactly the effects of the quake on Japan's Fukushima Dai Ichi nuclear plant will be. Already the plant has released more radioactivity than Three Mile Island and is likely to continue at an unstable crisis-point that could go on for weeks.

Meantime I hold hands with those around me and try to figure out which end is up and wonder why everyone is not scrambling to order a copy of Jolt: a rural noir from Amazon.com to answer their own questions about what they might do if there really were a nuclear meltdown here in the United States of America--until I remember we are all so busy just trying to survive in this economy. So who has the time?

Roberta in Po-Town, Takin' a breath

Live has been so pressed for time of late, with some chagrin, I resort here to simply giving the link to an article on how in the interest of helping love ones immediately or going with the fashionable but out-of-budget-range items, even high earning women pretty much doom themselves to growing old poorer than males. As it turns out their financial futures are often bled away by the needy near. If the topic interests you, click on the address below.

http://www.dailyfinance.com/story/investing-basics/five-ways-women-sabotage-their-financial-futures/19875019/

Roberta in Po-Town, Counting Pennies

March 8, 2011 - International Women's Day, Poughkeepsie, New York. Photos by Fred Schaeffer of the women's march across the Walkway over the Hudson.  

A picture is worth a thousand words: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=625981&id=76399620004 

Roberta in Po-Town, Proud to be a Woman

I look around the world in dumb amazement. So many stands to take. So little time to take them. And so difficult to find the platform from which to speak. Or the forum in which to be heard. The Middle East in a shambles. From Gadhafi in Libya to the revolutions in Tunisia and Egypt to the formation of a union seeking to be part of the government in Saudi Arabia to demonstrations in Yemen and Bahrain. Just keeping track of the countries involved is enough to befuddle any reasonable person. And just when I finally straightened out the difference in my mind between the Sunnis and the Shiites in Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan--well kinda.

And now the GOP is taking on unions in Wisconsin and a bunch of other states are clambering to join them--under the guise of balancing one budget or another.

Years ago in the struggle for improved status for women and minorities, we had a saying: "When they're under the heel, they kick sideways." Yeah. Under the heel like everyone not in the monied top two per cent. Forced to fight over peanuts. This includes those in Congress when what they should be doing is closing the loopholes for the rich; increasing the progressive aspect of the tax base; and limiting the percentage of money dedicated to the military to fifty per cent. But what do they do? None of those. No.

Here is what at best the GOP is about: In the states where the need for unions is not in industry but in education, an effort is underfoot to strip the unions of as much of their clout as possible. Why? Well, in those states most of the union members are women anyway, mostly teachers, which makes it logical to  go after them--after all, its the men not the women who are the breadwinners!

Well, sometimes.

Then today in the WSJ I read how "Moderates Are Key in a Budget Deal."  Some deal. I like its hypothesized purpose: to commit to law cuts in federal deficits such as were recommended by a commission President Obama established last year. That is, I like it until I read the means recommended to bring about the balance like cutting discretionary spending (sounds good--especially if it is related to cutting expenditures on the military), limiting the growth of Social Secuity, Medicare, and Medicaid (certainly needs consideration), simplifying the tax code by lessening the deductions and credits (depends on which), and lowering the tax rates for all. But wait a minute!!! Lowering them even for that top two per cent who already have had their taxes reduced and could buy and sell the other 98% of the populace without a blink. Nope. I definitely do not like that.

And, by the way, at what point will the discussion turn directly toward reducing the military budget? Think of this:Who really wants 53 cents on every tax dollar collected to go to the military? Or building anti-ballistic missiles or whatever other probably never-to-succeed big toy idea floating around out there? Especially when if military spending were reduced to even as much as 50 cents on every tax dollar--still an embarrassingly large amount--has anyone considered just how far that three per cent reduction would go in solving the question of how to cover the 'entitlements'?

Pretty far.

Seems to me there is something wrong with the whole picture. All the way from Gadhafi firing on his own people to the GOP worrying only about cutting but not about what or on whom the blade will fall. Yes, most definitely there is something disproportionately lop-sided about all the solutions--liberal, moderate, and conservative--and the sooner we let out Senators and Members of the House of Representatives know how we feel about this, the better.

Roberta in Po-Town, Frustrated . . .and worried.