Is It Time? by Liz Flaherty

Gallery 15 Photo by Sarah Luginbill

Thanks to everyone who joined in the "Night at the Gallery" last night. It was so much fun seeing and talking to people, laughing a lot (and maybe occasionally inappropriately), seeing old and dear friends, and meeting friends I hadn't met before. Plus there was food. I just love food. 

I don't have a plan for the Window today. Like many others, I'm more consumed than I like by the upcoming election. Following the news and social media is like watching a movie you don't really like that much but feel compelled to see how it ends. 

There are two sides to that coin, of course. I like and am fascinated by politics. I like the two-party system, abhor gerrymandering and the electoral college, and am sick to death of having our financial strings pulled by people who never have to choose between buying groceries and paying the mortgage. 

That aside, I know we need  much more rain than the teaser we got the other day, but I swear this is the most beautiful autumn I can remember. The temperatures are wonderful, the foggy mornings are inviting, and the show the sun puts on at both ends of the day is amazing. We got a glorious viewing of the Northern Lights (if we remembered, but those pictures were wonderful if we didn't) and so many opportunities to look at the moon and think it's probably never been so beautiful before. 

I am grateful. 

Readership of the Window has decreased markedly, as in if I were a wailer instead of a whiner, I'd be wailing, No one likes me anymore! Truthfully, I don't think that's it. I have the same friends I've had for a long time, plus some new ones. There are many I can't talk politics with, a few I can't talk religion with, and a quite a few who are a whole lot smarter than I am, but we're still friends.

Once again, I am grateful.

I keep saying it's time to close the Window, but I'm not ready for that yet. Maybe I just need to take it in a different direction, but my internal GPS isn't giving me any ideas. Some days, I think blogging is in a "winter of discontent," but I really don't believe that, either. Times are too exciting and some of us are too hopeful for that to be the case. 

With all this said--without a plan, no less--I'll wind this up and have another cup of coffee. I wish you a good week, good friends, exciting times, and a season of hope. Happy Halloween. Be nice to somebody. 

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. 

Happy Saturday

I'm taking the day off today. I hope you're having a good weekend. Spring is on its way. Don't forget to change your clocks!

If you're looking for something to do this afternoon, stop in at Gallery 15 from 2-4 PM for music from Sarah & Ron Luginbill & Friends Monroe Alfrey and Ron Youngblood. 

Coming soon! Gal's Guide Anthology: Nourish, a collection from Hoosier authors (including me.) It's available for pre-order now at https://tinyurl.com/3kh5383v Reserve your copy now!

This anthology is sponsored and published by the Gal's Guide to the Galaxy Library in Noblesville. 

See you next week. Have great days. Be nice to somebody.

The Uncomfortable Zone by Liz Flaherty

Photo by Sarah Luginbill

On Thursday night, I read three essays at Open Mic at Gallery 15, something I've done a few times before. I made it through all three essays without falling off the stage, bursting into tears, or otherwise embarrassing myself or Duane, who said You can do this at least 10 times before Ron Luginbill introduced me.

The people in the chairs in front of the stage were unfailingly kind, making me almost certain I hadn't subjected them to the longest 12 minutes in their lives. Applause, to anyone who likes positive attention, is addictive. I'm not going to say it's like a drug, because I don't understand that particular addiction, but as an ex-smoker, I can say it's as good as the first cigarette of the day. 

I'm paralyzingly scared to talk in front of an audience, and it's as far out of my comfort zone as anything I can think of, but it's also fun. As a writer, being able to share what I love doing and have people say nice things to me about it is one of the best things ever. Unlike a book review, when you don't interact with the reader, you do interact with a live audience. 

One that is receptive, that listens, that does not want you to fail. 

I can't imagine what it would be like to step out in front of everyone knowing I was likely to be booed or ignored, to be unheard because no one was listening. To be jeered at because of my size, what I'm wearing, or the sound of my voice. To be heckled by people who relish the idea of doing harm. (I need to add in here that the musicians I know are almost universally supportive of each other, but they are also skilled hecklers. However, they would be horrified if anyone thought they meant it.)

Part of what I read was about music, where I said my only skill in music was the one of listening. This is a fact. Being a good listener also allows me to claim the skill of being a good audience. Sometimes. As long as I remember to not scroll on my phone after I take a picture of who's performing. As long as I don't sigh and look at the time. As long as I applaud and say great job because it matters. 

The stage is not a comfortable place for me, even when it's fun. I'm grateful to performers who step out to sing and play music, to act in theater, and to give of themselves even when the audience isn't kind. It's important, I think, to share talents and skills we're given, whether as artists--both performance and not, athletes, being skilled in sharing information, or anything else. It's also important to appreciate the sharing of others. 

Thanks for reading the Window. Have a good week. Be nice to somebody.

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.

Break Time by Liz Flaherty

I'm taking the week off! I'll be back next week. 

Don't forget to visit Denver Days today, Second Saturday music at Gallery 15 tonight, and whatever other "doings" that are going on.

I'll have a newsletter out this week. If you've never subscribed, please do!  http://eepurl.com/df7dhP It only comes out a few times a year and there's usually a prize included!

Have a great week and be nice to somebody!

Liz

Remember Whens... by Liz Flaherty

Seein' things that I may never see again... - Willie Nelson

We're on the road this week, visiting family. It's a trip we've made a bunch of times, changing routes as family members change places. However, the trip to Florida has been the same route all along, with a few changes like the Kokomo bypass around its bypass--yay!--and the never-ending road construction that makes things less convenient for residents of areas but faster for those coming from Somewhere Else on their way to Somewhere even farther Else, where they can groan because the path they've taken offers "nothing to do" and "nowhere to go."

Oops, got lost in my own agenda for a minute there. Anyway, it's an easy, nice drive to where we go in Florida. We know where crosses sit in fields along the way--serving as a promise to some and a threat to others. We have eaten, we swear, in every Cracker Barrel along the way. Duane points at different places as we go through Louisville, and sometimes we take an exit to renew memories. "Wyandotte's right there. It cost 50 cents and we'd walk all the way there."

Wyandotte Park is still there, but the pool he remembers is not. Like Miller Pool in Peru, it's from another time and it's too bad it's gone. Too bad.

We talk about going to Kingfish to eat and him telling our youngest that his frog legs looked like little people legs. Jock couldn't eat them then, so Duane did. I don't think he did it on purpose, but 40 years later, we're still accusing him of it.

There are points of dread on this trip. Two of them used to be Kokomo's myriad stoplights and the nightmare of merging onto 465 that comes with spending one's life on country roads where my biggest complaint is that people don't stop at stop signs and occasionally drive 22 mph in the middle of the road. Then there's Nashville; it always rains when we drive through--although it was only a sprinkle this time--and it has so much traffic that there aren't enough roads to stuff the cars onto.

But back we go to the things we recognize that we look forward to. The Welcome to... signs are always a pleasure--one more state down! Shortly after the sign comes the welcome center to the new state. We missed Tennessee's this time--which meant we were talking and/or no one had to go to the bathroom--but looked forward to Alabama's rest stop rocket. It had been saying hello to us all the years we've been making the drive.

It's still there, but the welcome center itself had been torn down. The site is a mass of red dirt and myriad excavating equipment. The rocket stands alone. Its welcome seems feeble.

Horrified and feeling betrayed once again by change, I looked it up, finding a notice from radio station WKSR that said, "The NASA rest stop rocket in Alabama that has greeted people arriving from Tennessee on Interstate 65 for more than four decades is rusting and needs to be replaced, and that welcome center has been shut down."

Well. Dang it.

It's always this way in life, isn't it? It must be why we have memories, and it must be why when those memories fail in pieces and parts--as they most certainly do. So that we can remember the rush of pride and recognition that came with seeing the rocket, how we sat in Kingfish that day, those crosses that mean different things to different people. Duane and his friend we visited yesterday remember the walk to the pool at Wyandotte, the fifty cents. Duane saved his lunch money, his friend mowed a yard. They remember who lived where on the streets in their old neighborhood, and what they don't remember a phone call to a sister will clear up for them.

It makes me think of other changes. Of Gilead School with its fire escape from the second floor that was so much fun to go down. Its creaky wood floors and its pictures of graduating classes that hung in the assembly room. Of the days when all country kids rode school buses, singing and shouting and sometimes getting into trouble with the driver. That was a lot of energy to pack onto one bus, wasn't it?

We listened to music at Gallery 15 before we left on Thursday. The Three Old Guys played and I thought how cool it was that I've listened to two of them off-and-on since they and I were all in high school. The music was so great, with the musicians and the audience seeming to be in the same place. Terri and John Bond sang "Sounds of Silence" and gave me long moments of tenderness. A pretty young girl sketched portraits. She did mine, something I can add to my remember whens along with frog legs and welcome rockets and fire escapes.

I've waxed enough nostalgia this morning, haven't I, sitting here in this hotel dining room in a state whose time is an hour behind ours. I've been up since five--or four--depending on how you look at it. Seeing others leaving early with their luggage, going home to Michigan. A man with a beard sits across the room in the semi-darkness of the not-yet-open area, watching the news that is louder than I like.

People-watching, at least, doesn't change. They fill their cups before they leave for their own Somewhere Else and I wonder what their stories are. They look back, thoughtfully, wondering if they remembered everything. That doesn't change, either.

I wonder if they will miss the welcome rocket like I will. Or will they just be glad they remember it?

Have a great week. Remember. Be nice to somebody.

Come Rejoicing by Liz Flaherty

Sowing in the morning, sowing seeds of kindness,
Sowing in the noontide and the dewy eve;
Waiting for the harvest, and the time of reaping,
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.

I have nothing to say today. Actually, I do. I have plenty. There are times, I admit, that I wish I wrote a political column--not one where I just get political sometimes, but a real political one.

But that's not going to happen. I don't know enough--and yes, that should be a stopper--and my skin is way too thin--and wrinkled--to survive the backlash. 

So, let's just talk.

Has that moon the past few days not been the most beautiful thing? We were coming home last night and I'm almost sure I saw the man in it!

Jan and Gary Wooten

We listen to music a lot. (One of us plays it, too.) Last night we got to listen to old, familiar songs at a friend's house on Lake Manitou. Tonight, Second Saturday, we will listen at Gallery 15. One day this week, while searching out the lyrics to an old hymn, I sang "Bringing In the Sheaves" to no one in particular while I wrote. (I take the term "joyful noise" very seriously.) 

I wouldn't be me if I didn't offer advice. If you don't do lunch with friends, you should. It's so much cheaper than therapy, you can pack a boatload of memories into an hour around a table, no one cares at all about your thin and wrinkled skin, and there isn't time for grudges. (Actually, there should never be time for grudges, but that's another column where I might need to have a teeny bit of focus to offer the subject.)

Are you planning a trip? Where are you going? My idea of travel is a new place every month and Duane's is an old place every four or five years, so you can see why I'm curious. It's called traveling vicariously. Although my friend Nan and I are going to Michigan for a few days soon and it will be so much fun, I have an itch for a new place. Where do you suggest?

I love trees. Just saying. And flowers. I want some of those "naked lady" lilies, some ditch lilies, and every purple flower that grows wild. The ones in this picture were included in my birthday bouquet. The roses are long gone, but these are still brightening up my desk. Other than kids and kittens, I don't grow things well, but if I did, I'd have those lilies and purple flowers. 

We've had the windows open this week. Although, as a survivor of hundreds of hot flashes over the years, I'd never give up central air conditioning, I have enjoyed the reminder of how much I love to hear the birds. 

So that's how I'll leave this one. I hope you've seen the moon, heard the birds, and enjoyed the flowers this week. Oh, and experienced lots of joyful noises, too. Until next time, have a good week, watch out for kids walking to school and school buses stopping--that means you're supposed to stop, too--and take the detours out there; you might see something new. Thank a teacher, hug somebody, and donate to a worthy cause. It'll not only make someone else's day, but your own as well. Be nice to somebody. 

 

Free with the Tree by Liz Flaherty

I've written about music before, which with my tin ear, two left feet, and appalling voice, isn't necessarily expected even though music is as important in our house as any possession we might have. Experts insist you should write what you know, and what I know about music is how bad I am at every facet of it.

Except listening. I'm a good listener.

And feeling. I'm good at that, too. (And dwelling on what I feel, but we're not talking about that this week.)

Terri & John Bond - Photo by Sarah Luginbill

We were at an open mic session at Gallery 15 this week and Terri and John Bond sang "Mr. Bojangles." It's an old favorite and I hadn't heard it in a long time. I sang along almost silently--at least, no one gave me any dirty looks--and the lyrics and the tempo of the song created one of the most overused terms of the century, a soft place to fall. With the sounds of Circus City Days as a suitable backdrop, the story in the words and the gentle tune opened the doors of yesterdays and good feelings. 

When I looked up "Mr. Bojangles" this morning to get information on it, I remembered a made-for-TV movie in 1977 called Sunshine Christmas when Pat Hingle sang the song for his granddaughter. It was a sweet, sentimental show that entertained and made my heart ache at the same time. What could be better?

Hearing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," watching graduates walk in to "Pomp and Circumstance," and experiencing anyone singing "Amazing Grace" can bring me to tears and hiss "shhh!" to anyone silly enough to talk while the music's entering my heart. 

There are moments that music give us that are like gifts. Bette Midler and Wynonna Judd are singing "The Rose" on YouTube as I write this, and I remember that it was played at my brother-in-law's funeral. Laughing Bill. We still miss him. But, oh, the memories are precious.  

Music is public, it's loud, it's shared; there is music played in cars that can be heard and felt hundreds of feet away (whether you want it to be or not), and yet...and yet...it's so intensely private, too. I just listened to Linda Ronstadt singing "Silver Threads and Golden Needles" with the Eagles and danced in the office wishing I had a hairbrush out here to sing into. I would not care for anyone to have seen that, much less heard it. It would leave a mark

I dislike virtually all music--give me a break; I said virtually--released in this century, plus most of the stuff my kids played in the last one, but I know how the music of the 1960s made me feel. And I remember how my mom disliked it. I think there were a couple of years there when the only words she said to me were, "Turn it down!" That is, I guess, how generations roll. What's funny is that the songs from when my folks were young give me all kinds of warm, fuzzy feelings when I hear them. My kids like the Beatles and the Eagles, too, and I'm fairly sure they're all aware that "Good Vibrations" is anthemesque in its importance. 

Sometimes the mistakes are what you remember when you hear a song. I sang, "...just another magic Monday..." for years instead of "...just another manic Monday..." (Even now that I know better, I like magic better.) I just saw a meme on Facebook about an eight-year-old singing "...dancing queen, young and sweet, only seven teeth..." Kari Wilson and Anna Bednarski agreed that they sang it and it flowed. Anna said it might be even better than the original. Just like magic...

Duane sang a Joe Nichols song last night called "The Shade." It's a nice song and has one of my favorite lines of all time. ...the shade comes free with a tree...

We need music, don't we? We need to be better listeners, to have open hearts, to allow ourselves to feel. We also need to be foolish sometimes and sing badly into hair brush microphones, to cherish the memories that music gives us, just like the shade with a tree, free of charge. 

Thanks for listening. Have a great week. Be nice to somebody. 

Real Life by Liz Flaherty

I will admit to being the poster child for too much Facebook. While I don't watch much TV and hardly any movies or play video games and I'm not--I don't think--addicted to my phone, I spend a lot of time in front of a computer screen. In my defense, much of the time is spent working. (As much as I love writing books and essays, yes, it is work.) However, when I need to break away from rewriting a scene for the third time because it didn't work the first two and the third isn't looking hopeful, either, Green Mountain Nantucket Blend and Facebook are my "drugs" of choice. 

So far, not a problem, right? No, the problem happens when Facebook or other social media become your reality. When unconscionable rudeness becomes the people who are doing it instead just ugly things on a screen. When people unfriend you because of your political stance or you do the same to them. When they repeat things because they're funny without thought to them not being true. When cruelty is the rule of the day and so many people, only some of them bots or trolls, claim some kind of invincibility because...well, I don't know why. 

Because when you meet them somewhere in person, they're almost always polite. They ask how you are, how the family is. They hold the door for you. They don't hoard toilet paper, harangue you about your faith or lack of it, or call you by anything but your name. (Yeah, I know, I know...I beat that horse to death and it still won't go down.)

I've written this to remind myself. Am I going to give up Facebook? Nope. It's how I keep up with people I never see, how I know everyone in the world but me is good at Wordle, how I promote books. It's where I read wonderful quotes I might have missed otherwise, look at adorable cat pictures, and talk to other writers. It's where I share pictures of my grandkids--who are all so amazing! Have I told you...

There's such fun to be had on social media, so many things to learn. But, at the end of the day, it's not real life--it's just a screenshot taken out of context. 

Real life for me lately has been reading to Head Start kids at Elmwood. It's unbelievable how much cuteness can be contained in a classroom, isn't it? 

Real life has been neighbors and friends doing snow removal from our driveway.

Real life has been patching blue jeans for a grandson and a nephew and thinking about them while I do it. These kids today are fabulous and funny people, you know it? You parents and teachers have done such a great job. That's the reality, not what you see on Facebook. 

Real life has been arguing with my husband one minute and laughing the next. When you see a 50-year anniversary meme of a beaming couple, know it hasn't all been beaming--it's been scowling and shouting sometimes, too, and that's how it's lasted. That's why they're strong. 

Photo by J. Koons Craft

Real life is people like Steve Hagan, who's retiring from Denver's grocery store today after working there, I swear, since infancy. The store doesn't belong to his family anymore, but it will always be Hagan's to me. Steve's been putting out fires--both literally and figuratively--for as long as I've known him. He is the embodiment of a generous spirit. 

Real life is people like Mary and Katie Day, Anita Lynn, Sarah and Ron Luginbill, Conny at the breadshop, Joe DeRozier and a slew of others who lend richness to their downtown. Where instead of saying, "there's nothing here," you can open your eyes and ears and find out there really is. 

Real life is doing the best you can with every single day, no matter what Facebook says. It's laughing at jokes that don't hurt anyone, singing even if you can't carry a tune, and crying not just over your own losses but over your neighbor's too. 

Scattered as usual, with apologies, I'll end this now. Have a great week, don't spend too much time on Facebook, and be nice to somebody. 

A Bit of A Party!

 We hope to see you there!

This Friday we're going to have a "Bit of a Party"

65 North Broadway

Peru, Indiana

Friday, October 15th

4-7 PM

We're going to have Wine from our Wineworks.

Art from our Gallery 15.

Coffee and Hot Chocolate from our Aroma Coffee

Some gifts from our Boho-Chic Hair Salon

Snippets of all the things at our Anita's

D O N U T S

Live music from Duane and Denny

And a book signing from Best Seller, Liz Flaherty, Debby Myers and her trilogy,

and your dusty donut guy and his two books.

4pm-7pm!

Stop in to say, Hi!