Write On!

My third (or is it fourth?) career...is as a writer. The last several decades have been pre-cursors to where I am now.

Writing was always a passion project for me. A third grade assignment was to design a newspaper. Creating writing was sending letters to the editor (when we still HAD newspapers). Part of my job was creating a user's manual for the company's legacy software. I wrote employees' newsletters for two companies in New Jersey and Louisiana. I wrote custom poems on demand for fun and profit. At Lakeside Choraliers  in New Jersey, I wrote parodies of the music we performed as a mixed choir at the after-parties.

In 2022, Liberty's Scrapbook was published, making my authorship official. My funny Liberty polydactyl cat (you may refer to his type as a Hemingway) purportedly wrote of his misadventures as an autobiography. Pictures from his life with other furry and feathered housemates are included. Last year, one of my short stories was featured in Johnston County Creates 2023. Also, a poem (and honestly, it was not one of my best) was included in Franklin County's County Lines anthology.

This past Wednesday, I'll be part of a small group of writers who will meet over the next nine weeks. What I chose to work on is a novel about a girl's journey from a beloved daughter - to orphan - to foster child. Please look for it to come out later this year. For now, the book is entitled Merilee's Journey.

Homeless Folks in My Town

The last two weeks have been below freezing at night. 

I was at the Center for Active Aging last week when I overheard a private conversation between a town employee and a homeless lady. 

My heart went out to the woman, who was physically disabled. Everything she owned was in a shopping cart. 

I thought, "I have an extra room...," yet I did nothing. I risked breaking my lease by taking in  a homeless acquaintance a few years ago. It did not work out well.

On Saturday, a scruffy-looking homeless man rang my doorbell. We talked through my storm door. It was in the 20s and especially windy that day. He was literally freezing and begged me to come inside. I felt heartless for turning him down.

As soon as I closed the front door, I called 911. I begged the police to patrol this area immediately. They needed to find the man as soon as possible and get him to a warming shelter. I know there's a shelter for homeless men in the next town. But what is there in mine?

Here's a horrible analogy... If you see one or two cockroaches where you live, your house is likely to be infested. Now, I am not equating homeless people to vermin. I'm just saying that I have no idea how many homeless people are in my town. It's apparent to me that my two examples could mean dozens to hundreds of individuals in need. These folks are the poorest of the poor. As a society, we need to provide them with low income housing and provide an array of social services to them. Have we done that? If not, what is our collective excuse?

More therapy

The road to healing involves a lot of therapy. Two kinds, actually; equally important.

Reclaiming my mental health took a few months, but I'm doing miles better as my body's been healing.

Naturally, I've had to endure physical therapy at the rehabilitation center, followed by a few weeks when a therapist came to my house.

Last week, I started going to an off-site sports medicine physical therapist in town (OSMPT). I'll TRY to do the prescribed exercises, but anyone who knows me well has often heard my childhood refrain, 

Exercise is a dirty word. 

Changing that internal messaging will be difficult, I won't lie. But since I want to be able to overcome the ankle pain and improve my limited neck movement, I must follow directions. (Following directions is another thing I need to work on).

Getting back to my life

It's now been two months since my car accident. Y'know, the one where I broke my neck and had a hairline fracture of my left ankle. Also had a fractured rib.

Patient Progress: I'm now walking with a cane. Graduated from wearing an Ace bandage over my ankle and a too-large boot. Different modes of mobility had been a wheelchair, and a rollator*, to a cane. I think I'll be able to walk unassisted within a week or two.

Went from therapy in a rehab center, to home-based. I'm waiting for an appointment to start therapy at an outpatient facility.

There's still a bump at the back of my neck, but it's healing nicely. Used to be a freakish sight.

Other Progress:  I bought a new car and I'm reacquainting myself with all the outings I once enjoyed.

One Monday a month - political party

Wednesday Scrabble games

Thursdays from 1 to 3pm -  "Telling Our Stories" in Selma

One Thursday per month, 10 -12 meet my Critique Group

One Thursday per month, 6 to 8pm - the Triangle Writers Group meeting

First and Fourth Fridays, 6 to 8pm - Open Mics (Benson, Selma)

Ad hoc events for writers to promote their works 

Saturdays from 11 to 1 - meet with my accountability partner

Spooky has finally forgiven my absence and once again uses the litter box (Yippee!)

  


*A rollator is like a wheeled walker with a storage seat and a set of brakes

Spooky gets into it

It seems that Spooky is always perched at the water bowl. She looks as though she's going to douse herself because she can't get any closer without falling in!