An Update on Women's Lib

by Amy Lignor of The Write Companion

My first experience with ‘Women’s Lib’ came when I was around seventeen years old.  My boyfriend at the time was a young man who hadn’t annoyed me that much…yet, but he was, in a word, useless.  I was working a forty hour week, just out of high school, wanting to make as much money as I could in order to hit the road and get as far away from my hometown as humanly possible.  Of course, seeing as that I was living in Connecticut and a roll of bathroom tissue was a hundred dollars a pop, basically I was working in order to pay the rent and feed myself with enough money left over each week to stock the bathroom with tissue.

After a long day, the boyfriend knocked on the door.  He had worked on his car all day, but BOY was he tired.  Sitting watching television, he announced that he had seen macaroni and cheese in my kitchen cabinet.  I replied, “I know.”  He countered, “We should have that.  Are you going to make that?”  (He said this last line for awhile, much like a child sits in the back of the car on vacation chanting:  Are we there yet?  Are we there yet?  Are we there yet? 

Now, after a long day I could almost feel the presence of Hitler take over my body.  It’s what he must have felt on the podium when he began to scream to a crowd of ridiculous onlookers who were absolutely enthralled by his supposed strength.  I stood up from the couch and in the loudest, most commanding voice I had within my soul, screamed, “No!  I am not making it!”

He, much like one of those children, asked, “Why not?”

“BECAUSE!  It is MY macaroni & cheese!”  This scream was heard round the world, and I walked out of my own house.  That was my ‘women’s lib.’  It was MY macaroni and cheese and no one was going to separate me from that - especially not some man who hadn’t worked at all and thought he should get it and I should cook it.

Back in the decades of the 60s and 70s, women had to fight far harder than I do, because I simply do what I want because I was raised by my mother to do just that.  Yes, I have experienced the: honey, sweetie, darlin, moments; the words that seem to be your name with certain age groups, or men in certain locales, but I just roll my eyes and move on.  Should I stand up for myself?  Why bother?  These are people who aren’t even doing it to be rude, they simply can’t remember their own names (usually because of the beer-drinking) let alone mine, so sweetie is what they got to work with.

I ran across my nineteen-year-old daughter one evening.  I walked through the living room, not knowing that she and her boyfriend were watching television out there.  (I thought they had gone to a movie).  My daughter was wearing the Hitler face but it was far darker.  Even the Fuhrer would’ve run from her with the full mask of Satan that she wore.  In fact, she looked as if she had lines of troops behind her, just waiting to shoot and take the young man of her dreams OUT! 

Apparently, he had been speaking about dinner and how hungry he was, reaching over to take a piece of the ‘Kit Kat’ that was sitting beside my lovely, gentle child on the table.  What he didn’t understand, however, was that this was my girl’s ‘time of the month,’ and if men have learned nothing over the centuries they should have - BY NOW - learned never to touch chocolate that is owned by the girl during “that time.”  It is very much like walking up to a starving lioness, or alpha female in the wolf pack, and stealing the piece of rotted flesh from their actual mouths before walking away.  Remember “Wild Kingdom?”  It never works out well for the man intruding on a woman’s space.  Suffice to say, my daughter’s boyfriend exited the building far faster than any alpha male I’ve ever seen running through the bush trying to escape the wrath of their significant other.  Even the male wolf knows his furry behind is about to be kicked, even if he is the one in charge.

See that?  “Women’s Lib” is still evolving in its own way.  In the 1980’s I got mad and left my own house, BUT kept my macaroni and cheese safe from ‘the man’s’ hands.  And now, in the turn of the century (in my family anyway), the females have even a better grasp on ‘women’s lib.’  My girl didn’t even have to speak - all she had to do was give a look of pure and utter evil and the man simply ran for the hills.

See that, people?  Soon we will be running the country.  Maybe then, the country would actually be out of debt and looking forward to a brilliant new future.  Ah…one can only hope!

Until Next Time,

Amy

You Can’t Go Back

by Amy Lignor of The Write Companion

A book came across my desk this past week that I felt so unbelievably ‘moved’ by that this week’s blog has to focus on this material.  As anyone who knows me knows, I am not a big fan of romance novels.  In fact, from the contemporary to the ‘bodice rippers,’ I find most of them incredible boring.  Of course, authors do tend to - certainly in the ‘bodice ripper’ category - write about the exact same people time and time again:  Girl is strong; girl hates guy; guy hates girl but is stuck with her; romance blooms (whether it be in Merry Old England, on a pirate ship, or in the wild, wild west, doesn’t matter); guy goes from snot to knight in shining armor; etc.  Throw in a few over-the-top sex scenes and…The End.

Only once in a very great while does a book come along that can give you a fulfilling, heart-stopping romance, while also offering a world of reality, history, sorrow, happiness - every adjective you can think of - wrapped up in an amazing story that makes you wish to God you haven’t just turned the last page because there is no more, and you’re left staring at the two-thousandth ‘vampire love story’ that awaits your review.

In 2007, Pam Jenoff wrote The Kommandant’s Girl - a book that still, to this day after reviewing an average of forty books a month, is something I remember.  She took readers back to the time of WWII (but not like all the rest who simply spew the Nazi and Hitler world with the same tone as everyone else.)  Pam Jenoff created a very human character who watched, lived, and was courageous enough to make a difference during that horrific time period; where SHE, what SHE was doing, and the romance SHE was having was the center of attention, and not The Reich.

Books came after:  The Diplomat’s Wife, Almost Home, A Hidden Affair.  But then, I opened a box and saw The Things We Cherished - Jenoff’s newest creation - and was soon wrapped up in a world that I could not let go of.  I always say a prayer, begging that no diabolical emergencies happen while I’m reading one of Jenoff’s books.  (I only did that when the 7^th Harry Potter fell into my lap and, like the rest of the known world, NEEDED to know.)

But Jenoff’s tale brought something else to the surface.  Her story of the past that interweaves with the present is outstanding, but what readers learn from this amazing title is that you have to speak when you have something to say. 

Every single one of those ‘moments’ in life is  necessary, and when a ‘moment’ comes at you whether it be, a thank you; a declaration of undying love; saying the words I Do (or, the words, I Don’t); the goodbye you never got a chance to say because the hands of fate didn’t tell you that, in your hurry that day, it was the last time you were ever going to see someone - you have to seize it and not let it pass by. 

In Jenoff’s story there are more than a few people who didn’t say what they wanted to say, and as time went forward it became far too late to change the past.  Whether it’s a mystery set in WWII doesn’t matter.  Whether it’s a relic that literally is passed through time from family to family linking them all in what becomes a heavenly love story has no meaning.  The point is…saying what you have to say when you have to say it.  Even if the words sound completely stupid in your own head at the time, we all have to stop having self-limiting beliefs.  You know, those beliefs you are taught as you grow older of what is not right, or not appropriate…blah, blah, blah.  If you dump all that garbage that you re taught and just SAY what you want to SAY, you know what you end up with?  A fulfilling life, at the end, where you can fall asleep with a smile on your face because you have no regrets.  That’s almost an impossibility.  Courage is a must, and in some situations you can’t find that.  But, as I raise my daughter, I keep telling her to find it because it’s there.  And, after reading Pam Jenoff and seeing the world she’s created, once again that will knock readers’ socks off, I am making sure to drive that idea home with my daughter even more. 

In life there are times you’re gonna’ look like a jerk - it’s unavoidable.  There are times when you will be called a geek - or something even more harsh - because you chose your own path that was not the ‘accepted one.’  We all know what’s good and what’s bad.  We all know not to murder, harm, steal, cheat, kill, or become the slime who we see on TV nowadays.  We know to live with morals, ethics, and love.  But we also need to learn to take a chance.  Dreams can be put away into a treasure box of sorts for a better ‘time,’ and then life comes upon us where we have to make sure to make enough money to sustain our families, etc.  But that box is still there.  And most don’t reopen that box until it’s time for retirement, and then the improbable has become the impossible. 

I am asking everyone to not close that lid.  Even if you’re wanting to be an astronaut right now, don’t call it quits.  NASA says it’s over, but nothing is ever really over, so don’t stop trying for that.  The world evolves every single day - sometimes for the worst, I grant you - but don’t close the lid and lock up what you truly want, because there comes a time when you can’t go back. 

You can never go back to say the words you wished you’d said, or follow the dream you wish you had.  Live with no regrets.  If you don’t believe me, go purchase Pam Jenoff’s books! 

Until Next Time, Everybody.

Don’t Quit Your Day Job!

by Amy Lignor of The Write Companion

I never used to read the newspaper; it usually just made me sick as a dog.  My grandfather used to read the ‘Obits’ just to see if he was in there (our hometown was THAT boring).  My Dad had sports, and Mom had the comics.  My sister usually looked for “sales.”  Me?  I always thought it was better staying with the stories in my own head, considering the outside world was like one 24/7 nightmare.  (Not much has changed, actually).

However, recently I have become immersed in the police blotters.  I know what you’re thinking.  But, no, I’m not looking for my name to appear.  I am just amazed by how hysterically stupid some of our criminals have become.  Not that Al Capone was any brighter, mind you.  If he was…he never would’ve ended up in jail in the first place.

Since we’re so close, I had to share.  A man pulls up in front of a 7/11 in a truck he stole earlier in the evening.  Therefore, the license plates, etc. can’t be traced back to him.  He’s wearing gloves, a ski mask…everything a good criminal needs.  Happily, he carries no weapon.  In fact, the criminal was quoted as saying he just “wanted the money so he could buy some beer.”  So he walks into the store, says he’s armed, and steals the cash.  (He didn’t even think to take a six-pack with him).  Running out of the store, the man jumps into his truck but…the engine doesn’t start.  What to do?  He runs away from the scene as fast as possible, knowing that he should be safe because he left no “trace” of himself behind.  Unfortunately, there was one small thing he forgot. He’d taken his dog along with him for the ride.  When the police got there and found the Labrador, they were slightly amazed to see him wearing tags on his collar that stated the name and address of his owner.  Oddly enough, the police got there before the robber and picked him up.  Yes, he might have been a criminal, but at least he was a dog-lover, and that definitely counts for something.

A truck waits in the darkness outside of a bank’s ATM machine.  A woman drives in, takes out some cash, and the robbers go straight to her car and rip her off.  Unfortunately for them, they were a little intoxicated and from out of town.  When they got back into their truck to drive away, they jumped the curb.  This was no ordinary curb.  It was actually a type of small concrete wall between the bank’s parking lot and the FBI building across the street.  The truck was stuck dangling over the wall and the criminals were picked up very quickly.  What a shock!

There was a criminal who was going around small towns throwing chains around ATM’s and tying them to his bumper.  He would hit the gas, the truck would jump forward, and the ATM would be ripped from the cement as he pulled it down the street into a garage where the criminal would take out the cash.  Unfortunately, the criminal was so tired one evening that he threw the chain and tied it to his bumper, without even noticing that this particular ATM had a concrete slab that attached it to the bank, itself.  He hit the gas and the back of his truck was torn to pieces in the middle of the road.  He was so tired, he didn’t even try to run.  All he was quoted as saying was that he hoped his insurance would cover the damage.

Someone commit’s a robbery and rushes into the street.  Holding up the first driver he sees, he steals the car - without ever noticing there’s someone sitting in the back seat - and drives the car back to his own house.  The criminal gets out and goes inside, as the backseat passenger calls 911.  See that?  Cell phones DO come in handy once in a while!

An employee of a large company went into work one day.  She’d had a bad morning - it was Monday, after all.  When she grabbed her time card and tried to clock in the machine wouldn’t work.  Then, when it finally came down on her time card, it wouldn’t let go.  The woman literally destroyed the time clock - shattering it to bits.  Although she was arrested for destruction of property, she did find a whole new way to “punch-in.”

A robbery took place where the man walked into the store and began to pile cases of beer into his shopping cart.  When he went to the cash register, he - again, with no weapon - held up the cashier and said he was leaving with his beer no matter what.  Then, without thinking, he asked for two packs of cigarettes and paid for them with his credit card (which gave the police his name and address).  Maybe he’d already had one beer too many.

Back in the VERY small town I grew up in, a man walked into the local bank dressed in a Santa Claus suit for the holidays and walked out with some major cash.  This is one criminal who was never caught.  Apparently, he had a very Merry Christmas!

And, one of my absolute favorites, a person decided to steal security cameras off a building, yet apparently had no clue that as he was stealing them, they were taking his picture.  He was stunned that he got caught!  This was one for YouTube!  Say Cheese!

A man is running away from the police and jumps a fence.  Right into the center of a ring of pitbulls.  Suffice to say he jumped right back out and threw himself into the police officer’s arms.  Oh, yeah, jail is way safer.

It’s unfortunate that there are people out there in the world today who are so unbelievably stupid that they can’t seem to do anything right.  Education might be the way to go.  Even though these are people who aren’t exactly on their way to “Shawshank Prison,” they should definitely think about a career change - maybe, politics? 

Until Next Time,

Amy

Back When

by Amy Lignor of The Write Companion

As a book reviewer for many years, I’ve been inundated with YA after YA of vampire vs. werewolf.  But, recently, I was sent a truly beautiful book about the Civil War.  No, of course, this is not a “beautiful” subject, but the writer and photographer focused on the many houses, buildings, and plantations that have gone to ruin - and it made me think of how ‘cold’ things have become.

This country is young.  Unlike the ruins of Rome, Athens, etc., the United States has a very short history when you think about it, and losing ANY of our past is a frightening thought.  In the Gilded Age, New York City and the East Coast had their Astor’s and Carnegie’s, with their huge homes and gallant parties.  The South had their endless fields, mint juleps, and manors that could stop your heart if you looked at them long enough.  The construction, the work, the soul that went into creating our architecture was extraordinary - and letting them rot away into nothingness is a heartbreaking reality.

Think about it! Not from a political standpoint, mind you, but a purely artistic one.  I’m not here to fight about ‘us vs. them,’ or ‘us vs. us,’ I’m here to discuss back when.  This is yet another song by that talented “Tim McGraw,” who sings about a time when, a coke was a coke; when the wind was all that ‘blew;’ and, my favorite, when you said I’m down with that, it meant you had the flu.  He sings of an easier time…when we were nice.  Or, at least, some of us were.  He sings about a time when my mother sat in a booth at a pharmacy in her hometown surrounded by her high school friends, while they talked, laughed, and ate grilled bologna sandwiches (ick) and washed them down with REAL cherry coke.  It was a time when my mom drove a 1955 pink and gray Chevy (I could kill her for losing that!). 

There was a time even further back when Houdini made an elephant disappear before an audience’s eyes; and, a time when the cornerstone was laid for what would become the grandest library in this country, where Patience and Fortitude still sit and stare at you as you walk by. 

Artists flourished.  Immigrants came to our shores following in the path of the Mayflower, which was one of the first to reach this land from across the sea.  There was a time of education, where writing the statement, I love you has now been replaced by a beeping phone that says:  I luv u.  Grammar has almost become obsolete, and penmanship isn’t required because of the keyboard sitting in front of you.  Each and every decade brought new and brilliant innovations to this country, as well as some that could one day be used to end us all.

The 1910’s was when the film industry in Hollywood began to rise.  The ‘Roaring 20’s’ had their flappers, and a stock market crash that blew everyone’s mind.  The 30’s saw the Empire State Building rise into the sky, and The Great Depression almost destroy society.  In the 40’s, America banded together with others to destroy a Fuhrer who was determined to create a deathly Reich; and, the 50’s appeared with rock-and-roll, poodle-skirts, and teenagers screaming for Elvis.  The 50’s began with our men dying in Korea, and ended with the survivors heading to Vietnam to lay down their lives once again. 

Social change and political upheaval introduced the 60’s.  This decade saw the fear of missiles, “Camelot” destroyed, and watched man achieve the impossible and walk on the moon.  From the building of the World Trade Center to disco and feminism, the 70’s had its own triumphs and losses.  And the 80’s brought heavy-metal hair, the Cold War, a “Boss” who was Born in the USA, and the death of John Lennon.  When the 90’s flashed by in what seemed like an instant, sideburns came back into style and, for women, “The Rachel” haircut from Friends was all the rage.

When the clock wound down and our next century began, brilliance and pain came in waves as we watched the huge realm of social networking rise…and those two grand towers fall…

Comedy has gone from the hysterical team of Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin to “South Park” accepting  Tony for best play of the year!  Each and every decade has seen new artists, scientific geniuses, literary kings and queens, and death.  Now we have singers who intrigue the world on stage with odd names like “Ga Ga.”  We even have our own new Houdini by the name of Jason Escape (Jason Gardner, to his friends).  We have books that will become legend as Edward and Bella fade into the “Twilight,” and we have more and more stories to tell in every subject from fashion to technology.

But…when we begin to destroy our history we become a truly ‘cold’ society.  When we begin to let our buildings, monuments, and history crumble, we let go of what made this country beautiful and innovative in the first place.  Each and every one of us needs to make sure that - even though our technology has become greater - the discoveries of the past don’t disappear.  We need to hold on to the time where manors AND manners were important.  There is no way to know who we are if we don’t remember where we’ve been.  …And that’s the truth!

Fathers and Grandfathers…The Best of the Best!

by Amy Lignor of The Write Companion

"Larger than life" is a phrase I never understood when I was a kid, but there are no better words to describe my beloved grandfather.  Joseph Carrier was the ultimate Grandpa; he was also the ultimate husband and father, according to other members of my family J. 

Every Sunday we would go to Grandpa and Grandma’s house for lunch (even though they all referred to it as dinner).  When we walked in, Grandpa always had a huge smile on his face, and blue eyes that twinkled.  He would always tell funny stories about his life and growing up, and we would all laugh.  Mom still tells the one where it was so cold one day that Grandpa had his hands in his pockets and his lunch pail and books under his arm.   When a dog came from nowhere and began nipping at his heels, Grandpa tried to kick him away, but his hands got caught in his pockets, and he fell down on the ice.  He sounded a lot like Bill Cosby, actually.  Grandpa would talk about how he walked up the hill to school…both ways. 

Grandpa and I had personal time, which was so cool.  He would go outside after lunch (dinner) and he would start working on the car, or raking the leaves.  He always talked to me about stuff - explained the task that he was doing - like what tool went where and what needed to be done.  He would talk about the football game coming up, and he would always hold my hand.  Even though I loved my father to death, Grandpa could hold my hand in a way that made me feel like, even if the biggest monster in the world was coming up behind me, it wouldn’t matter - Grandpa would simply save the day.  He’d protect me no matter what.  When he passed, my nightmares began, and I always wished and prayed that “my warrior” was still on Earth so he could make them all go away.

I loved it when Grandpa sat at the head of the small table and smiled at Grandma across from him.  They didn’t need to talk, they would just stare at each other.  You could feel the connection.  THAT was true love.  Those were two people who proved that soulmates actually existed in more than just books and movies.  And I’m one of the lucky few whose parents proved the exact same thing.

Grandpa had a light green metal chair that, when you rocked, it made a sound like “da-dong, da-dong.”  He’d sit in that outside, and while he told me stories and talked to me that noise kept playing in the background - like music to his perfect lyrics.  Sometimes we just went and sat out there because there was an animal in his chair, and Grandpa would NEVER disturb the animals.  They were always allowed the furniture first.  Maybe he was making up for that dog-kicking incident :-)  

The only sound I didn’t like in that perfect house was the breathing machine.  Grandpa had asthma, and after dinner (lunch) he would have to sit in the chair in the corner of the small kitchen, flip these metal switches that sounded like a weird little engine had come to life, and breathe into a plastic tube.  I heard this sound again, years later, in my father’s hospital room; it came from the machine that was breathing for him and keeping him alive.  I so hate that sound.

Grandpa could also draw the most beautiful pictures.  I remember him making a squirrel with pencil and, to this day, it rivals anything I’ve ever seen in an art museum.  When he got older, Grandpa’s hands began to shake, so the drawing stopped.  But I’ll never forget that squirrel. 

Christmas was always great - of course it was, we were kids.  But on Christmas Eve when Grandpa walked in he’d smile and wink at me.  That big smile and those blue eyes made a fantastic gift.  And when he took my hand to wish me a Merry Christmas, that feeling of complete and utter protection came over me every single time.  Grandpa was always my guardian angel. 

Joseph Carrier had class, pride, heart, imagination, humor, and one of the kindest and most beautiful souls I’ve ever seen in my entire life.  He loved with such power and grace that I’m still in awe of him. 

Luckily enough, with my imagination, when I close my eyes and dream, I visit Grandpa at a beautiful house set in the midst of trees and flowerbeds, with a small river that flows through the property.  He’s surrounded by animals.  He takes my hand when I come up to say ‘Hi,’ and dazzles me every time with his smile.  He looks in the window at Grandma and offers his soulmate that wink, and then he tells me jokes, asks me how Mom is, and how things are going for all of us down here.  There’s no breathing machine and there’s no shaking…he feels good. 

When we’re finished talking, he gives me a great big hug and I turn around to take a walk through the field with my father.  Dad always asks me about his granddaughter - who loves him more than life itself.  He always smiled and winked at Shelby.  He always took her by the hand every time he saw her and protected her with everything he had. 

Like me, my daughter’s hero is her grandfather.  Like me, she had the chance to have the perfect man to look up to and love.

Grandfathers.  They just don’t get any better than the amazing men in my family.

Dreaming and Tim McGraw

by Amy Lignor of The Write Companion

As a heavy metal ‘hair-band’ fan, who hit the dreaded teenage years in the eighties, this will seem a surprising series for me to write. I was used to the “shouting at the devil” of Motley Crue; the colored scarves around Steven Tyler’s neck, Jon Bon Jovi’s immaculate (and big) hair…these were things that made sense to me. But as time has gone forward, I have come to love many different types of music. But I heard one song recently that hit me like a brick in the head.

Now, I’ve heard Tim McGraw songs. In fact, these next three blogs are inspired by him. But recently, I heard one that has always been my favorite. “Live Like You Were Dying” hits me square in the heart, and probably not for the same reason it does for other people. Yes, this is a song about a son who sees his father’s x-rays and knows that his Dad’s passage to Heaven is near.

He asks his Father what do you do with that kind of news? For me, I always think of how amazing it would be. You know? To be able to know the moment it will be too late to do what you wanted to do. I used to travel the highways of America with my music blaring and hardly any money in my pocket, just to get to that next town, or meet that next person who had something to say. I’ve lived my life never wanting to turn around and say, “What if?” But, when you get older, and the responsibilities get harder, sometimes your idea of “freedom” is an impossible thing to attain.

Instead, you get even better things - like the love of a child. And you suddenly have a person in your life who makes you want to do everything in your power to get her to see as many sunsets and sunrises in as many places as you’ve already seen them. You want her to sit in that car beside you with the window down, and go through city after city in order to really see the country she was born in. Now, of course, there’s school…there’s a time when you stop and ‘grow roots’ in order for that wonder of your life to have a good, solid beginning.

I’m forty and, hopefully, I’m not done. And I have only said, “What if?” once. When I hear Tim sing about what his Dad did when he knew the end was drawing near, I loved the fact that he didn’t give up. He didn’t sit in a bed and wait for the end to arrive. He went: sky diving, and rocky mountain climbing, and, my favorite, he went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu. He also did what all of us should do on a daily basis. He: loved deeper and spoke sweeter; and did the one thing I haven’t yet been able to do - he gave forgiveness he’d been denying.

With Tim’s song, I can’t think about the end drawing near or the issues that brought his Dad to this place. All I see is the fact that there is a chance to live. And that chance is every day. It’s when you get up in the morning (with a headache or not), and go out to that job (that you might not like), and work solidly, while trying to figure out your finances, get home, cook (if you’re better than I am at it), talk to that beautiful child, put her to sleep with a story and a prayer, and go to bed…hoping to dream.

Dreaming is a wonderful thing…but living is better. Striving for that ultimate moment when you know you’ve done it all. Or, you at least tried. But you don’t have to dream it - you have to do it. Well, as Tim continues on, he finally read the Good Book, and took a good long hard look, at what I'd do if I could do it all again…

I hope no one ever gets there. I hope that, at the end, you’ve done absolutely everything that you wanted to do (and even some things you never dreamed you could do). Tomorrow is a gift. And, what would you do if you had an eternity to think about what you would do tomorrow? My answer - you should get up, break the rules, and just go do it - whatever it might be.

I have been lucky enough to watch the Blue Eagle as it was flyin.’ It was one of the most beautiful, majestic sights in the world, that I wouldn’t give back or change for any amount of money, or even extra time.

The one regret? I didn’t make it in time to say goodbye to my own father. When I finally got to CT from Dallas, he was asleep. I wonder sometimes what he would’ve done differently if he had known that he was nearing the end. Would he have sat back and wondered what could’ve been if he’d chosen another path?

I’m greedy enough to say that I’m glad everything happened the way it happened for Robert Lignor. I’m glad of all the strife, pain, and struggle he had to go through when he was a young man. Why? Simple. It was because of all those things - all those bad and good days - that made him end up to be mine.

But I sure would’ve liked the chance to walk him through the gates of Graceland, or drive him over the Rocky Mountains and see the Budweiser Clydesdales roaming the fields. I would’ve liked to bring him to see the Space Needle in Seattle, or walk beside him into a stadium where we could sit together on the fifty-yard line and watch the Super Bowl play out. He would’ve loved stopping in Nashville and seeing a show at the Grand Ole Opry. And I would’ve loved to have succeeded in my dream before he passed away, so that he could be front and center when it finally happens one of these days. He could be there to walk up the stairs of the New York Public Library between Patience and Fortitude for my very first book signing.

Of course, I can feel that man so strongly by my side - even when he was here in body - that I always felt him in the car as I traveled the United States. That man’s soul is in his granddaughter now, the girl who rode in the passenger seat to all those fun places. So he did experience them all…through her eyes.

Be alive while you are alive. Don’t miss one single solitary moment of it. It goes away too soon, and there is SO much to do! When you dream, dream big! And then go out there the next day and make it all come true.

I think Tim McGraw would agree with me.

You’re Gonna’ Love This! Sound Familiar?

by Amy Lignor of The Write Companion

Ah, the joys of the medical community.  You know?  When I was little we had one doctor in our small town.  He reminded me of a teddy bear.  The guy was absolutely huge but constantly spoke about eating healthy.  You know the old adage?  Do as I say, not as I do.  However, this man knew everything.  He apparently went to medical school before it became all about botox and nose jobs.  When you were ill the man could cure you in one visit with treatments that cost no more that $15.00 for the penicillin that kills all.

Another set of doctors that stand out in memory?  Those amazing men (cute, too.) who were my baby doctors.  They not only liked the baby, they liked the mom, and they did everything within their power to make sure that your pregnancy and labor was absolutely perfect or, as perfect as labor can be when trying to eject an elephant out of something the size of a Dixie cup.  (Isn’t it a wonder that they always ‘coo’ over how cute and LITTLE the baby is?)

Mine didn’t want to come out.  In fact, she took one look at the room and went right back in - more than a few times.  They told me that her foot was stuck on my rib.  Ah, my daughter, an acrobat even then.  Talented to the extreme.  I’ve always been waiting for her to move to Vegas and join Circus, Circus.  Of course, I was stuck with a different doctor that day and for ten hours he spoke to me in some foreign language and told me I was over-exaggerating the pain.  (Lucky for him I was in pain or he wouldn’t have gotten out of that room with a face).  THEN late in the afternoon, my real Prince Charming came back in, took one look at me, rolled me down to the brightly-lit room and, BOOM - my beloved child was here, and the Demerol was flowing.  I will always hold them in the highest esteem for that child…not to mention that Demerol

As you know, this Yankee moved from the East to the South and things…changed.  I have recently been up against a slew of doctor’s that were, what you would call…challenged.  I have no idea where they went to medical school, but I’m assuming they had to learn the language of goat-herders in order to receive their diplomas. 

Don’t believe me?  The first, said that I had an anxiety disorder from my job ($1,000).  Then, weeks later, he said my brain wasn’t firing as well on the left as it was on the right ($500).  Of course it wasn’t firing right, the left side was still in shock from the amount of money I had to pay for this high-tech advice.  The third visit he said, “Well…there are just some things that can’t be explained.”  I could’ve gotten that advice from a Reverend at no cost.

On to my mother.  The doctor first said that she had osteoporosis but no arthritis, thankfully, and all she needed was a referral to a bone doctor.  ($200).  Next visit, she said that, “Of course there was arthritis in Mom’s hip!  I mean, WHY ELSE would she be having such a hard time!”  And, I have to refer you to that bone specialist we talked about ($150).  Have we received the referral?  Nope.  We did, however, receive a plastic box and a card that explained how to screen for ‘fecal occult blood.’  What a name, right?  I was wondering if this meant that if you “laid waste” in the plastic container and it tested positive, you were Satan’s follower - hence the occult term.  By the way, does this have anything to do with arthritis or bones?  Nope.  Just a precaution.  For what…I have no idea. ($100) 

The directions?  Yes, I have to share.  “Apply samples from bowel movements collected over three different days BUT if blood is visible don’t do it.”  Well…first; if blood is visible - too late, you’ve already done it.  Second; if blood is visible than why need the test?  Just get your butt to an emergency room!  ($60)

Now, the child.  Sore throat.  Totally normal.  But when you have a child that should’ve been a soap opera queen - or in line to be the next martyr - it is automatically ‘mono.’  Of course, she had no signs of mono but, I digress.  As a loving parent I did not want her to worry, so when she saw a spot of bacteria in her throat I took her to the educated doctor. ($103 - because she fit us in).  Doctor tests for strep.  Yep.  Right on.  That’s it.  Picked up the good old penicillin ($15, STILL).  Three days later, bacteria is worse.  In fact, her throat looks like what Mount Everest must look like after the climb (not to mention you would definitely have fecal occult blood after that hike).  Go back to doctor ($65).  Test for strep - now negative.  However, says doctor, “your daughter seems to have a really “Smart” strain of bacteria.”  (No joke!)  “Here is a stronger dose of penicillin with a name that is longer than Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.  Perhaps Mary Poppins makes this medicine.  Go to pharmacy - 20 pills is $151.00.  Apparently, this is made with gold.

Child fine, mother doing well, I, however, am sitting in my bedroom with two thoughts:

1)   I may have to go down the road and sit in front of WalMart and beg for change; and,

2)   The first time I finally find something “smart” down here…and it’s bacteria!

Happy Memorial Day, readers!  Eat well, drink well, relax, and DON’T get sick!