A Night at the Gallery...

Tonight at Gallery 15 at 15 E. Main St. in Peru, Indiana...

Come and join us!

...and...

 

"Are You Sixty Yet?" by Liz Flaherty

"Are you sixty yet?"

I wish I'd grinned at him and said, "Just." But I didn't. I gaped and then I grinned and said, "Well past it, but thank you."

I usually forget to ask for the senior discount available in a lot of places, and I think servers and cashiers are reluctant to offer it because they don't want to insult anyone by (1) referring to their age or (2) being wrong about their age. They also don't want to open themselves to the flak offered up by people who don't even want their age noticed, much less acknowledged. I don't blame anyone a bit for not stepping into that particular fray. 

There are downsides to being well past sixty, many of them having to do with worn out joints, deteriorating senses, medical appointments, and pillboxes on the counter. Forgetfulness, slowing reflexes, and invisibility create fears not unlike the ones in adolescence, when it seemed as if no one liked you, everyone was cooler than you, and your parents didn't understand squat. 

With the downsides, there are sometimes tradeoffs. Losing people is incredibly hard, but having had them is like the sun rising and setting--it's a gift every single day. Generally retirement income is less. Sometimes the kind of less that means choices between food and medication, food and new shoes, food and rent. The discount that is often offered is both appreciated and, in some cases, necessary. While being invisible to so many can be hurtful, sometimes being left alone is a blessing. Privacy offers benefits.  

I have to admit, for some of the over-sixty crowd, age is open season for being rude, for feeling entitled, for disrespecting every demographic except their own. As much as I despise hearing Hey, Boomer, I sometimes understand the reason for it. I still remember the man standing in the express line at Marsh in Logansport with his full cart of groceries. He'd stood in line all his life, he said, it was "their" turn now. Behind him, on the feet I'd been standing on for eight hours, I didn't appreciate him a bit. I still don't. 

Just speaking for myself, of course, I don't think anyone's entitled to that kind of rudeness--even ones like me, who are...well, almost 60.

I know I've talked about age a gazillion times on this blog. I can almost hear there she goes again whistling in on the cool October wind. But mostly I just wanted to tell about Ed, the guy with the smile at My Pizza My Way, who said, "Are you sixty yet?" and made my day. I wanted to thank him. 

On the 25th, stop by Gallery 15 from 6:30-8:00 PM for a book signing with Debby Myers, Kathy Oldfather, Joe DeRozier, and me. Buy a book or two, listen to the readings at 7:00, peruse the beautiful art, and visit a while. 

Have a good week. Notice somebody--and be nice to them. 

Show Time with Ole Olsen Memorial Theater by Debby Myers

 “May you live as long as you laugh and laugh as long as you live!” - Ole Olsen

There’s something in the air! Although it’s still pretty warm outside, fall’s approaching with all its scents. Apples, cinnamon, bonfires, and hot chocolate come to mind. School is in session, and we’re all settling in. But wait!

Fall also brings the beginning of a new season of Ole Olsen Memorial Theater – and it happens to be our 60th anniversary! We were born in 1964. Our name came from Ole Olsen, born here in Peru. Ole became a Vaudeville star and made it his mission to make people laugh.

As the Publicity Director, when Liz, who is one of our biggest supporters, asked me to tell everyone about what’s coming up at Ole, I was glad to have this forum to tell you about it. We have three new shows never before done on our stage that we are excited about, along with an old favorite. And we’re planning to end the year with a party! Our 60th celebration is being planned for May of 2025, so stay tuned for more on that.

Our first show comes just before Halloween. Frankenstein – the Monster Play  puts a spin on what we all usually think of when we hear the word Frankenstein. Yes, there’s still a monster. But in this adaptation we experience how the monster feels being "born" into a strange new world. Seeing his transformation from his side, we understand why he becomes a monster, in every sense of the word, by the end of the show. So join us in the mansion of the Frankenstein family – we promise to let you out! The show is kid-friendly too, so come on out for fun night with Frankenstein – the Monster Play. It is being directed by Ole vet Bryan Bertoline and his assistant Chris Badami.

The play has been cast and is in production now. On stage you’ll see two first-time performers, Michelle Cota and Jen Marshall. Also two vets who’ve been out of the spotlight for a few years, Dan Brown and Joe Pyke. Plus Ole actors Autumn North, Patrick Sullivan, Debby Myers (yes, this is me – I’m playing Mrs. Frankenstein, the mother of the crazy scientist) Doug Working, Gloria Brumbaugh, Todd Riddle, and Cindy Ridenour. It opens with dinner theater on October 3rd. Performances October 4, 5, 11, 12 at 7:30 pm and October 6, 13 at 2 pm. As always, our productions are held at the historic Peru Depot.

The next show’s title may sound familiar, but it is on the stage for the first time. Last season we saw The Crimson Cap Ladies Bare It All, and the reviews last year were so great, we decided to do another one. The Crimson Cap Ladies Take on Vegas will keep you guessing as the ladies’ International Christmas Convention goes awry leading them on a search for a diamond thief. The four women are on another hilarious adventure that doesn’t turn out the way you or the ladies expect! It opens December 3rd. Director Debby Myers (yep, me again) says auditions will be held September 22 from 2-4 pm at the depot. The play has seven women and two men of any age. The roles are of all sizes. Always check Ole Olsen’s website and Facebook page for more! Or get in touch with me.

We are all excited about this season’s next offering, Happy Days – the Musical! It comes complete with Richie, Ralph-Malph, Marion, Howard, Joanie, Potsie, and the Fonz! It is filled with fun for all ages! Introduce your teens to the teens you loved to watch. Play opens on February 20th, 2025. It’s directed by Shanna Stoll

We’ll end the season with an oldie but goodie – Moon Over Buffalo. Last performed in 1998, this comedy will keep you giggling and guessing as we find out the fate of washed-up actors, George and Charlotte Hay. Stu Sullivan will direct, and the show opens April 24th, 2025.

Season tickets are on sale now for only $45 for all four shows! Broken down, it’s $11.25 per play, and you can’t beat that price for quality, local entertainment in the quaint setting of the Depot. Not a bad seat in the house, and you may even see a friend or two gracing the stage!

For your tickets go to www.oleolsen.org or call 765-142-3680. We also have several levels of club membership that offer voting privileges, banquet invitation, quarterly newsletters, and free tickets! We offer sponsorship opportunities for local businesses to appear in our show programs too!!!

There is something in the air! It’s the sounds of laughter coming from the theater – better join in!

Nana's Song by Debby Myers

For anyone who is Grandma, Meemaw, Mamaw, Gigi, or Nana like me, you’ll never forget the first day you met your first grandchild. It was surreal to think that your baby now had a baby of her own. Even more so, you are now able to turn back the clock and love another like no other. And that first one seems to be special.

My oldest daughter gave me my first granddaughter, and today she will graduate from high school. These 18 years have been magical for me. I’ve been there for every milestone, every dance, every audition, every performance, every game, every competition. (well, maybe not "every," but as many as I possibly could). My memories of her won’t stop spinning in my mind. And the next one will be watching her in her cap and gown getting her diploma.

This little girl who has encompassed so much of my life is a woman now. A woman. She is kind, compassionate, and giving. She is strong, smart, and confident. She’s about to venture out into this big, sometimes, bad, world on her own. In the fall, she will head to college. She will meet new friends in a new place. The problem I’m having is whether I should be happy or sad about that.

I’m an optimist, so I envision her becoming successful in her career, finding the man of her dreams, living in a beautiful home, and having a family of her own. The reality is not that simple. We know we all have had our share of roadblocks, heartache, and had to pinch every penny to survive.

Many have had children move far away, and I have been fortunate that none of mine have chosen to do that. It doesn’t mean it will be the same for her. And do I really want her to stay here, or do I want her to get out there and explore all the world has to offer? Well, the answer is both. Too bad we can’t have both.

I envision her being near me for as long as I live. Then I think back to my own grandparents. Hindsight is 20/20. Once I went to college, got a job, and had a family, I didn’t visit or talk to them like I had when I was young and in school. It didn’t occur to me then that I didn’t have time to put it off like I did. But I regret it now that they’re gone. They didn’t push me because they knew I had a new life to live. Now will I be strong enough to do that with her?

I know I will think of her every day, and I will call and text her as much as she’ll let me. I will worry about her. Is she safe? Does she need my help? And all the other questions that we let creep into our heads. She is experiencing mixed emotions of her own. Like me, she’s told me that at times she feels overjoyed and at times she feels frightened. I encourage her to let the joy trump the fear. Can someone encourage me?

I will miss her – her laugh, her hugs, our talks, and her random visits. I will miss watching her on stage in a play and on the field directing the band. My pride for her stretches through all the years since I first held her, and I have no doubt I will continue to feel that as she moves on. I knew this time would come that I would have to let her go soar, but it feels like it came too soon. 

I don’t want this to sound like it’s all about me. It’s not. It’s about a Nana’s love for her grandchild. And all the others feeling the same way about their grandchildren who are becoming graduates. It’s about being thrilled and uncertain at the same time. Knowing the time has come for us to pivot and adapt to a different kind of relationship.

Congrats to all the graduates. Remember to be confident in who you are. It doesn’t matter if you fall down, it matters if you get back up. If you need help, ask, ask, ask. Your road to success is under construction, so get out there and build it!

And to my Makenna – remember when you get the chance to sit it out or dance – I hope you dance! Love you pretty girl!

~*~*~

Debby Myers has enjoyed writing since she was a little girl. She has just completed her third novel, the last installment of “The Vee Trilogy.”

In her spare time she directs plays for Ole Olsen Memorial Theater. She is a member of the Indiana Thespians judging high school theater competitions. Debby’s favorite pastime of all is spending time with her nine grandchildren.

Her books are all available now on Amazon or get a signed copy directly from her by contacting her on her Facebook page “The Vee Trilogy.” 

Amazing Days by Debby Myers

Have you noticed how everyone is talking about April 8th? Many of us will be elated to experience the most astounding astronomical event of our lifetime. The solar eclipse. Yet I’m going to have a really hard time being excited about anything, including a total eclipse, on April 8th. It’s also my daddy’s birthday.

It's been 35 years since my dad died in the dead of winter in January 1989. He suffered a massive heart attack. I shouldn’t say he suffered. He died before he hit the floor, as the doctors told his sister that his heart exploded. It’s been 35 years since I’ve seen his face or heard his voice call me his "little ground squirrel." On April 8th, he would have been 83 years old.

His name was Ernie. He was born in Elizabethton, KY, and his family moved here when he was 12. He was 23 years old when I was born, and he went to work at Chrysler. To hear him tell the story, he instantly fell for my mom the first time he saw her. As soon as she graduated high school, they were married in December. I came the following July.

In high school, he played basketball for the Peru Tigers. Their team won the sectional two years in a row. He held the record for best free throw percentage and highest scorer up until the time Kyle Macy came into the picture. When Kyle broke both of his records, he became his biggest fan.

He loved the Chicago Cubs and the Chicago Bears. But basketball was his first love. He rooted for the Kentucky Wildcats and Los Angelos Lakers. I’d have to say my love of the game came directly from him. We would sit and watch Kareem and Magic together whenever he was home, which wasn’t very often.

My first memories of him were all playful. Taking me by the hands and swinging me around in a circle, sitting in our little pool with me in the backyard with his feet dangling over the edge, giving me a big plastic bat and pitching a whiffle ball to me over and over, and helping me climb the tree in our backyard.

As I grew older, I remember spending a lot of afternoons at the softball field at Maconaquah Park watching him play. I also remember spending evenings at Hillcrest Lanes watching him bowl. Most girls my age were at home playing Barbies or outside on their swing set. I was hanging out with my dad.

I wished I had his southern accent. His was just slight, not as evident as my grandma "Gigi." Dad took me and my brother, Jeff, to her house often. She always made four-course meals for us. And you had to clean your plate to get dessert. Dad was used to it. He would eat and eat, and if we couldn’t finish, he would wait until Gigi left the room and finish our plates, so we could have her homemade from scratch cake or pie.

I will always love and miss my dad. April 8th I will be remembering him on his birthday. His sudden death was the most staggering day of my lifetime. And I’ll be thinking of him when I’m watching the most astounding astronomical event of my lifetime.

The Vee Trilogy tells the story of two families from different sides of the track. It starts set in 1969 in Brookton, Pennsylvania when the families are fused together through marriage and their saga begins. The Crawford’s and Hayes’ families are followed over four decades until 2009. Their struggles and celebrations remind us of how one marriage changes the lives of dozens of people for years to come as they are all entangled in three family businesses, sibling rivalry, and the parent/child dynamic. This cozy mystery shows that crime and addiction happen in all types of families and even small communities. ‘Vex and Valor” introduces us to the heroine of the series, Vanessa Hayes Andrews at the age of ten. “Verdicts and Vows” will bring the reader closer to the characters as we say goodbye to some and meet new family members. The final book "Verve and Virtue" has just been released!


https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0948D9ZJG?ref_=dbs_p_pwh_rwt_anx_b_lnk&storeType=ebooks

All I Want for Christmas... by Debby Myers

 

At my age I’ve seen many holiday seasons. However, I have one that will forever stand out in my memories. It was December 1989.

During this particular Christmas season, I found myself uncomfortable, unbearable, and unable to really enjoy it. I was nine months pregnant with my son, whose due date was Christmas day.

To give you some background, my oldest daughter was due on February 18^th, but by March 18^th when she hadn’t come, and I could barely get up out of a chair, my doctor induced my labor. Forty hours later she arrived--March 22^nd.  My next daughter was due on June 20^th, but she came early on May 13^th after only two hours of labor. This time I felt like with my son, he’d arrive right on time. However, as all women who’ve had a child know, babies are very unpredictable.

Back then not much Christmas shopping was done online. I found myself miserable every time I went. I guess I was fortunate the girls were just six and three, and I knew they wouldn’t notice that I just couldn’t get in the spirit. Or that they didn’t get much that year.

Another tradition I’d had with them was putting up the tree and helping them hang up the ornaments. That December, it was my husband who put the tree up, and it sat undecorated for a week before I finally got out the ornaments and put them on myself one at a time, very slowly, one night while the girls slept.

There was no decorating the front porch or baking Christmas cookies. I couldn’t even bring myself to do anything more than get the wrapping paper on the presents, when I usually enjoyed decorating each one. I kept thinking it was the worst Christmas ever for me and my girls.

I went to my oldest daughter Tiffany’s Christmas program at school. There was no way I could get my huge body on the bleachers, so I stood with my back hurting and my feet swelling, hanging onto my younger daughter’s hand. One of the teachers saw me and offered to bring me a chair, but the truth was, the only chair I fit in was the huge recliner in my living room.

On Christmas eve, I managed to travel with my husband and two young daughters to celebrate with my mother’s side of the family at her home. When everyone else ate, I was too nauseous. As everyone opened gifts, I found myself in her bathroom stripping down and getting into a hot bath to soak my aching tailbone. As my daughters waited in anticipation to open gifts, I waited in anticipation for this baby to exit my body.

Christmas day, his due date, came and went. I found myself crying all evening. On the 26^th when he didn’t come, I didn’t get out of bed much and the tears came again. Why was I so emotional? I knew he was healthy and had flipped in the birth canal. I knew it wouldn’t be much longer, but gee whiz, little guy, you’ve got to hurry up!

On the morning of 27^th of December, I was lying down on the sofa watching the girls playing with their Cabbage Patch dolls and Puff-a-Lumps. As I watched and saw their smiles and heard their giggles, my heart swelled with love. Having my children is, no doubt, one of the most fulfilling experiences in life. I think it was those two little girls that kept my tears away that day.

My husband left for work at 3 pm. I waddled around making the girls dinner, getting them bathed, and tucked them in at 8 pm. I went back to the sofa to watch TV. I ended up falling asleep too.

At 9:15 I jolted straight up as the first labor pain startled me awake. Then another at 9:21. It was finally happening! I called my mother-in-law. She rushed over, woke up the girls, called my husband, and drove me to the hospital. The contractions were now four minutes apart.

I’ll skip all the details and get right to it. Derek Jordan was born at 10:25 am on December 28^th, weighing in at 8 lbs, 3 oz. The nurse joked with me that I’d gotten him in just in time to claim him on our taxes! Even though it was the 28^th, I still consider him my Christmas baby.

Being born just three days after, we still celebrate his birthday when all the family is together at Christmastime. When he was five, he asked me “Mama, why don’t I ever get balloons on my birthday like my sisters?” It was one of the negatives about his birthday. No birthday parties with friends because they were all out of school on Christmas break. And balloons at Christmas?  But that year, we filled his room with 18 balloons. Three for that year and three for every year we’d missed.

In conclusion, even when we sometimes feel like it’s one of our worst times, it can quickly become one of the best. Derek is the reason why the Christmas of ’89 is one I’ll remember as being the best for the rest of my life!

Debby Myers has enjoyed writing since she was a little girl. She has just completed her third novel, the last installment of “The Vee Trilogy.”

In her spare time she directs plays for Ole Olsen Memorial Theater. She is a member of the Indiana Thespians judging high school theater competitions. Debby’s favorite pastime of all is spending time with her nine grandchildren.

Her books are all available now on Amazon or get a signed copy directly from her by contacting her on her Facebook page “The Vee Trilogy.” 

Debby Myers

Eyes On the Ceiling by Liz Flaherty

I saw them before the nurse started putting drops in my eyes. Two eyes and a nose in what looked like a pen-and-ink drawing on the ceiling above me. "Who put them there?" I asked. She said it was an anesthetist (or anesthesiologist--I don't know which is which) who was no longer at the clinic where I was having the cataract removed from my left eye. "Cool idea," I said, and blinked because there were more drops. 

From the days of fun annual visits with the gynecologist, I remembered mobiles hanging from above the table-with-stirrups. I don't remember if they moved or what they were. The doctor's wife, a nurse who understood about stirrups and discomfort and cold specula, had chosen the mobiles for each exam room. 

Where I get my hair "adjusted" to keep me a natural blonde, a wall ornament with a message printed on it is on the ceiling above the shampoo bowls. 

I was always a reader, while the kids were growing up, I took advantage of every moment of non-activity to read. While the family watched TV, I read. While I fixed dinner, I read. In the car waiting for myriad practices to end, I read. I enjoyed what I read, but even now when my kids' kids are mostly grown, I wonder how much I missed because I didn't look up often enough. 

We live near a corner that has stop signs on the east-west road. Since I am always up before daylight, I occasionally watch the corner when I see vehicles approaching it. I have no statistics, but the number of vehicles who blow the red octagon sign is amazing. I don't mean they roll the sign or that they slow down to ensure no headlights are approaching from either the north or the south--I mean they disregard it entirely. Most of the time there isn't traffic from the other ways, but it only takes once. I wish they'd look up. 

This is one of those posts where I could give soooo many examples: sunrise, sunset, pretty moon, deer in the field, little kids laughing. babies, rainbows. Entreaties to heaven and "hi, Mom" to the same place. But I've probably given enough, and the whole thing only has one message. 

Look up.

Have a good week. Be nice to somebody. 

Rose, Debby, Joe, and I hope you'll join us for a book signing at Gallery 15 on September 22. Event host Sarah Luginbill will have music from Ryan Record and light refreshments. 

Sixteen Years...Really! by Liz Flaherty

Who knew I'd been blogging for 16 years? Certainly not me. Sixteen years ago, I was still working at the post office and had only published a couple of books. Six of the Magnificent Seven had already arrived to teach Duane and me the coolness of grandparenting. I was driving my very first SUV, which was a lemon and with which I hit my first deer in the 30 years of driving to Logansport every day. But it did convince me SUVs were definitely my chosen way to go. 

This came from September of 2007. My love affair with autumn is still going strong and I go into these next months with hope and determination. Thanks for stopping by. Have a great week. Be nice to somebody. 

If you've never lived here in North Central Nowhere, where Nothing Ever Happens and there's Nothing To Do, well, hey, I'm sorry. We're slippery-sliding into autumn right now. Even though the temperatures are still climbing into the 80s on a lot of days, they're also diving headlong into the 40s at night. This means that if no one was looking, some of us would run the air conditioning during midday hours and turn on the furnace when we get up in the morning. (I can't do this because the boyfriend always notices things like that.)

But the colors here--I'm writing this in only one of them--defy description. I remember being so surprised that Vermont in October really does look like calendar pictures. So does Indiana. Plus I'm pretty sure our entire state smells like apples and cornfields and burning leaves. (There's a pig farm down the road that distributes an entirely different smell, but that's only certain times of the day, thank goodness--and carnivore that I am, I do really love ham and pork chops. Sigh.)

Well, I see I'm wandering here, when all I really wanted to do was brag about fall in the Midwest, where it truly is glorious. It sounds like Friday night high school football and crunching leave and feels good. Even though the truth is that things really do happen here and there really are things to do, those of us who were born here love the reputation we have. I think we like knowing something the rest of the world doesn't.

Except that I just told, didn't I? Oh, well...have a good day, everybody.

Four authors are selling and signing books at Gallery 15 on September 22. Ryan Record is providing music and we'll be surrounded by wonderful art. I hope you come. There will be cookies! And I heard maybe fudge...

These Precious Days by Liz Flaherty

Welcome, September! We're heading into one of my favorite times of year right now, when the view out the west window changes every day, the air is fresh and crisp and smelling of harvested grain and apples and everything pumpkin. (If you don't like apples and/or everything pumpkin, that's fine, but we don't discuss that here.)

I took the title of this week's blog from "September Song." While the song itself doesn't fit, these are indeed precious days. All days are, something we discover when we realize how fast they go.

It's also the season of holidays. While big-box store displays would lead us to think Halloween is in June and Christmas is at the end of July, we know better. However, I admit to looking at holiday fabric and thinking of projects I'm not nearly skilled enough to complete. I print out recipes I'll never bake, although I'll look at the pictures a lot and sometimes I'll buy the ingredients. 

It's the best time of the year at the orchards! McClure's and Doud's are both open and perfect places to while away a few hours. 

It's a giving time, isn't it? Churches will be having soup suppers, harvest suppers, and bake-and-craft sales on their premises. There will be vendor sales  at every available venue, complete with food trucks. Anita's Boutique and Gallery 15  and other local stores will have so many pretty things and things that sparkle and things that you don't know how you can possibly go on without. I mean, things you know someone on your gift list wants or needs. 

It's time for Football Friday Nights, too. Be on guard for fundraisers. Be generous when they catch you. 

Have you noticed yet that I really don't have a subject this week? I do have a question for you. Readership on the Window is decreasing. This isn't a terrible thing; after all, it's been around in one incarnation or other since the 1980s, and I've talked a lot during those years. I'm not ready to stop writing the blog/column, but maybe it's time to write it less often. Or to change it. What do you think? Is it time? All ideas--including Just shut up, Liz; you're boring!--accepted. 

Speaking of the Window, the ebooks of Window Over the Sink and Window Over the Desk are 99 cents this week at all electronic retailers. I still have paper copies and so does Anita at the boutique. 

Then, just giving you a heads-up, Rose Cousins, Joe DeRozier, Debby Myers, and I are having a books signing at Gallery 15. Ryan Record will provide music and there will be light refreshments. The Gallery is always a treat to visit, and Sarah and Ron Luginbill are great hosts.

I hope to see you out and about and that you're having wonderful times on these beautiful, precious days we've been seeing lately. Have a good week. Be nice to somebody.

The Week We Worried by Liz Flaherty

It was an idea. I got it when I was lying in bed sometime between midnight and four in the morning worrying about my kids and grandkids, my brother and my sisters-in-law, my husband, climate change, politics, aging, health, my energy level...did I mention my grandkids?

I thought, in the midst of this, when I'd turned over three or four times, squinted at the clock, and sighed with a depth that should have shaken the bed, that it would be a funny blog post. In the light of day, after all, I seldom worry. At least, I don't worry all the time. Usually.  

I wondered what other people worry about--are they as all over the place as me? So, since this is the 2020s, I did research in the most up-to-date and professional way. I asked on Facebook, expecting to get responses from a dozen or so friends. 

As of this morning, Friday, the dozen I expected was four dozen instead, and what I expected to be a probably-funny post isn't funny at all. 

About half of us worry specifically about family, with three more worrying about sick friends and family. Personal health is a concern

Money issues are things, I think, that keep people awake. A few worry about how they will pay their bills, about getting enough work hours, about being fiscally safe. 

Parents worry about their kids' health, their businesses, their finances, that they are or will be bullied, whether they are happy. Mothers of daughters worry about their girls' rights being taken away.

Photo by Skyler Wilson

People worry about cancer and the catastrophic effects it brings to its victims and their families and friends.

My niece worries about her parents. My daughter worries about her students being okay during the summer. A friend worries--and now I do, too, Leah!--about a general lack of curiosity. Another friend, a teacher, worries about how her decisions will affect those she cares about. Yet another teacher worries that she can protect her students from gun violence.

At least two worry about things that are beyond their control, that they can't do anything about. 

Valerie worries about the blights that taint society as a whole: "Addiction, racism, corruption, injustice, global warming, brutality, greed."

In line with that, several are concerned about the world we're leaving for the next generation, but the worries are diverse. Several of us are worried about the planet itself. Charley worries that "You have to watch what you say or you could be charged with a hate crime." On the other side of that, many worry about society becoming desensitized to hate. Joe worries about the "wokes"--others worry about the ones who are not. 

Some of us worry about guns. Helen worries about how dead batteries are recycled and I do, too, now (the planet again.) Vicci worries about the "disposable society" we have become, with concern for human life being at the top of the list. 

We worry about losing loved ones. About our spouses if we die first. About ourselves if our spouses go on without us. 

Brenda worries that she's not doing enough for the Lord. Another friend worries because her kids don't attend church. Many of us worry about our churches as we become increasingly divided in how we practice our faith.  

Two friends say they worry about nothing. In a way, I envy that, but in another, I still feel as if worrying is part of my job on earth.

There were more on the list, although I've covered most of them here. Debby Myers said, "All of the above."

I looked for a quote to put with this post, and all of the ones I found indicated that worrying is pretty much a waste of time. I don't believe that. As I said above, I believe it's part of my job as a mom, a Nana, a wife, and a human being. While I'm a believer in "let go and let God," I think He doesn't mind my helping. 

I've gone on longer than I intended. The Window hasn't been funny. It hasn't solved any problems. However, it has reminded me that although as human beings we are very different, we are also very alike. It's also reminded me to pay attention to what's going on around me, to care about what is in the hearts of others.

Have a good week. Worry if you need to, and listen to someone else's worries if they need to share them. Be nice to somebody. 

Bob Bryan: The Myth, The Legend, The Writer by Debby Myers

There are people in your life you meet and size up. They make an impression from your first interaction. Often, it turns out to be completely wrong!

I met Bob Bryan 20 years ago in 2003 when I went to see Driving Miss Daisy at Ole Olsen Memorial Theater. I’d been involved with the theater for five years, but I’d not been introduced to Bob. I didn’t like him.

Seven years would go by before we’d cross paths again. I was holding auditions for One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, which required 13 men. It was a steep hill to climb, but actors flocked to the depot to acquire one of these coveted roles.

Bob was one of them. Long story short, he got the part of Scanlon, a patient who was admitted to the asylum because he wanted to blow things up. Bob had few lines, but he was on stage nearly every scene, and his facial expressions and grumbling were what the part needed.

However, Bob and I began to disagree about what he was doing and when. My first impression was right. It became difficult for us to work together. He was openly vocal and stubborn, trying to bully me into having his way. When the show wrapped, we were both relieved. I felt certain that we wouldn’t be doing another play together.

Much to my surprise (or dread), Bob came to auditions again for another of my shows. I once again needed men for Of Mice and Men. I gave him a small part, worried that we’d end up having the same problem. We did. Bob was distant and resigned to my direction, and the performances came and went with a strain between us.

Fast forward to a year later. I acted in Dixie Swim Club, and I was in the receiving line trying to avoid him, but he left without saying a word. I thought he was rude.

Our next interaction was when I was casting Drop Dead. I wasn’t going to give him a part! He auditioned and waited patiently for auditions to end. As he approached, I started to walk away when he stopped me. He said he’d been writing scripts, and he’d like to drop a couple off for me to read. As shocking as it was to me, I agreed.

As I read, I got insight into who Bob Bryan really was. He was a lonely soul. No spouse, no children. He lived alone in front of an old typewriter with a dream of writing a play worthy of the Ole stage. He’d spent years as a reporter for the Peru Tribune. When he left when they downsized, he spent his time writing at home. His scripts were witty and dark in their content, much like Bob himself. But in his mind and the body of those stories, plays did exist.

We began to email to talk about the show I was working on, or the latest script he was writing. We communicated better in writing than we had in person, and we both acknowledged that there were creative differences we would have to agree to disagree about when it came to our visions of directing.

Fast forward to last fall. Bob went to the Ole Board of Directors and submitted a play he’d written, The Ballad of Granny Siler. The board approved it as the last show of the season. Bob also put on two extra shows under the umbrella of the group he’d formed "No Frills Theater."

Bob asked me to help with his show The End. He’d cast my granddaughter and his assistant had health concerns. I agreed. A couple of weeks in Bob had health concerns of his own. He was weak, forgetful, grumpy, and tired easily. Evening rehearsals made it hard for him to stay the full two hours and he’d leave early. Finally, he stopped coming at all. After encouragement from me and friends, he went to the doctor, but didn’t get a diagnosis.

He began to feel better and was at all the performances. He thanked me for helping and asked me to help him cast The Ballad of Granny Siler a month later. The turnout wasn’t what we hoped for. Ole Olsen no longer has a pool of actors to choose from. And he wanted me to help him direct this play, and because my husband had been cast, I again agreed.

Jumping ahead to today. I’m now directing the show without its writer/director, Bob Bryan. He went in the hospital for several days before rehearsals began, and he finally got a diagnosis. Congestive heart failure. It wasn’t what any of us hoped for. It was then that Bob turned the show completely over to me. I’ve continued to communicate with him about casting changes I’ve made and rewrites I’ve added. Like always, he voiced his opinion. He doesn’t agree with all of them. He wouldn’t be Bob if he did!

Bob was moved to Blair Ridge for therapy after he left the hospital. He’ll move into assisted living there soon. He’s on oxygen, but getting stronger. So is his Ballad. We open the show tomorrow night, and we are excited that Bob gets to be there opening night!

A man I didn’t like working with and obviously didn’t know has become a man I think of and worry about daily. Now I feel like his dream is in my hands. At 83, he still hasn’t abandoned the idea that he may direct another of his plays. He’s also inspired me to begin writing a script of my own.

The moral of this story is two-fold. Your first impression doesn’t have to be your last. And you can turn someone you dislike and despise into someone you love and learn to accept for who they are.

Please put Bob in your prayers. Lift up my cast to put on a show he can say fulfilled his dream and brought his Ballad to life.

****

Debby Myers has enjoyed writing since she was a little girl. She has just completed her third novel, the last installment of “The Vee Trilogy.”

In her spare time she directs plays for Ole Olsen Memorial Theater. She is a member of the Indiana Thespians judging high school theater competitions. Debby’s favorite pastime of all is spending time with her five grandchildren.

Her books are all available now on Amazon or get a signed copy directly from her by contacting her on her Facebook page “The Vee Trilogy.” 

Christmas Memories by Debby Myers

Here we are. One more month in the year. Another year gone by. We all say it. Time goes by too quickly. December is a special time. The month of the birth of Jesus. Christmas. A time that we all look forward to for different reasons. Being 59, of course, I’ve seen that many Christmases. Why is it that some stand out over the others?

My first Christmas memory dates back to when I was five years old, waiting patiently at Grandma Gigi’s house for one of my aunts to start handing out presents. Gigi loved to cook, so every Christmas morning she got up before dawn and prepared a feast. At least it looked like one to a little girl. All the comfort foods were there – the best fried chicken I’ve ever had, noodles, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans seasoned with bacon, buttered fresh corn cut off the cob, homemade biscuits with her special jam. And for dessert, her own cobbler and coconut cake. Gigi wouldn’t let us open presents until we stuffed ourselves first. That’s my first memory.

When I was around seven, my Grandma Betty let us come over to hang big shiny red balls on her Christmas tree. It wasn’t a traditional tree. The branches were silver tinsel. After the red balls were hung, she turned on the rotating light that shined a rainbow of different colors on the tree making it the most beautiful Christmas tree I believed I had ever seen.

Then there was the year I remember crying and crying because there was no snow for Christmas. Since there was no snow, I was convinced that Santa wouldn’t come. Mom struggled to make ends meet. I wanted a suede bomber jacket like my close friends had. I wanted it so much, but I knew mom couldn’t afford a coat that cost $100. (I thought that was a lot). Instead of asking for it, I asked for something else, and now I don’t even remember what that was. But guess what? Mom knew how much I wanted that coat. When I opened my gift on Christmas Eve with all of my family on my mom’s side there, I got my suede coat! I screamed. I hugged and kissed mom. I put it on and wore it the entire evening. I remember thinking she must have sacrificed something to get it for me. And I can’t remember ever being happier about a Christmas gift - even now.

Of course, there are many more Christmases that come to mind.

The year I was heartbroken because my older cousin revealed there was no Santa Clause.

The next memory of a Christmas holiday that stands out was when I was in seventh grade. My parents had divorced, and we moved into a trailer next to Hillcrest Lanes (remember the fun we all had there back then).

The year I went to my first candlelight service at church with a friend in high school. I was in awe of the love that touched me and made me a believer in the true meaning of the holiday.

The year I had moved to Texas with my ex, who had joined the army. I didn’t know anyone yet. I couldn’t afford to buy my own daughter Christmas gifts and a neighbor that I barely knew handed me (yes, gave it me) money and took me shopping for her.

The year I bought my oldest granddaughter a red velvet dress with white fur. She was only a year old, but she twirled around and around saying she was ‘soooo pitty’. She was the life of the party.

The year that I finally got to see my dad just before Christmas. He was in prison for habitual DUI arrests, and it had been nearly ten years that he’d been gone. He met my two daughters, his granddaughters, that day for the very first time. That Christmas will remain in my heart as one of my best, since he passed away suddenly one month later. 

We all know I could go on. There are even some years of my life I don’t remember Christmas at all. I hope hearing my memories will bring out many of your own. Be sure to share them with your grandkids.

"May your days be merry and bright and may all your Christmases be white."

Debby Myers has enjoyed writing since she was a little girl. She has just completed her third novel, the last installment of “The Vee Trilogy.”

In her spare time she directs plays for Ole Olsen Memorial Theater. She is a member of the Indiana Thespians judging high school theater competitions. Debby’s favorite pastime of all is spending time with her five grandchildren.

Her books are all available now on Amazon or get a signed copy directly from her by contacting her on her Facebook page “The Vee Trilogy.” 

And then this happened... by Liz Flaherty

It's been a busy week, and an exciting one, which means I won't be doing a regular post today. I'll be back, I promise!

The third and final book in the Second Chances Series from Magnolia Blossom Publishing is out! Not in paperback yet, although that will happen soon. 

In the midst of a summer of change, they’re both searching for an anchor.

Dinah is a mom, a giver, and a doer, so she’s used to change, but this summer is kind of overdoing that. The diner where she’s worked for half her life is closing, her college-age kids aren’t coming home for the summer, and a property on nearby Cooper Lake is calling her name, bringing long-held dreams of owning a B & B to the fore. Newcomer Zach Applegate is entering into her dreams, too.

Divorced dad, contractor, and recovering alcoholic Zach is in Fallen Soldier, Pennsylvania, to visit his brother and to decide what’s coming next in his life. He doesn’t like change much, yet it seems to be everywhere. But he finds an affinity for remodeling and restoration, is overjoyed when his teenage sons join him for the summer, and he likes Dinah Tyler, too. A lot.

Dinah and Zach each experience sorrow and tumult, but go on to dance in the kitchen. Together, they have something, but is it enough?

You can order it here. 

Then, for today, Debby Myers, Joe DeRozier, and I will be selling signing books at Revived at 53 E. 5th Street in Peru from 12:30 to 3:30 PM. I think Trunk or Treat is going on at the same time, so it looks like a fun afternoon for everyone concerned. 

Update: Debby Myers won't be able to join us today. 

I'll be back at the Window next Saturday. I hope to see you at Revived this afternoon. If not, have a great week and be nice to somebody!

Just Talking... by Liz Flaherty

It was a dark and stormy night...

Well, no, it wasn't. But my mind refuses to settle in today. Even if I can think of something to write about, I don't get much further than the first sentence. Usually it's a little more original than the one above, but not always. So, let's just talk. Want to?

We went to Fort Wayne on Thursday. We did the errands we had to and then had dinner at Hall's Tavern at Coventry. I'm not a fan of cities with lots of roads and traffic in them, but I do like that restaurant a lot. 

On Tuesday, we needed milk, so I went up to Raber's at Gilead. I had so much fun walking around looking that I almost forgot the milk. It's one of my favorite places to buy cheese, so I got some of Duane's favorite kind but neglected to get myself any. So now I have to eat his. 

I'm writing a new book and having so much fun with it. It's different, and I'm using first person, which I haven't done in years. If I had a dollar for every time I've written she instead of I, there'd be no reason to finish the book--I'd already have lots of money.

I have a cover for my latest book (not the one I just mentioned), but no release date yet. It'll be soon, though, so keep an eye out for Book 3 of Second Chances, The Summer of  Sorrow and Dance. I had a lot of trouble writing this book, although I'm pleased with it now that it's done. Its title, although it fits the story, has fit me, too, in this long season since my sister passed in April. The dancing part of it, for me, is metaphorical--having to do with my two left feet--but it's real, too. I will miss her always, but there's joy in the sorrow now. That's the dance. 

Election's coming up soon. Don't forget to vote. Do I necessarily think everyone's vote counts the same? No. But if you don't vote, it can't count at all. 

Regine Brindle

Hasn't the fall foliage been spectacular this year? Regine Bridle's photographs have made sure the colors will remain in memory long after the leaves are gone. Checking Gallery 15's Facebook page to see what Sarah Luginbill's painting with pumpkins and Ron Luginbill is building with gourds is always an interesting way to spend some time. Stopping in to visit is even better. 

I hope you'll stop by Revived at 53 E. 5th St. on October 29. The store will be open all day, but Debby Myers, Joe DeRozier, and I will be signing books from 12:30 to 3:30 PM. We hope to see you there!

Have a great week! Be nice to somebody!