Tag Archive for: Barbara J. Eikmeier

The Unpackables

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By Barbara J Eikmeier

I was prepping a sheet pan for a dinner of oven roasted veggies when I ran out of non-stick spray. Shaking the container I didn’t hear or feel even a drop sloshing around in the can. In 38 years of marriage, I’ve rarely emptied a can of Pam. It isn’t that I don’t use it often, and it isn’t that the spray nozzle is notorious for breaking before it’s empty, although that has happened. It’s more about the amount in the can. It’s too much to use up in 2 years.

As a military family we moved often. When the crew came to pack our household goods and load the moving truck, they’d give us a list of things they wouldn’t pack. In the end there was a small cluster of bottles and cans left on the kitchen counter: Pam, vegetable oil, and Worcestershire sauce. Sometimes there was an opened bottle of tequila or whiskey among the unpackables. Hair spray and shaving cream were left in the bathroom. Charcoal lighter and briquettes were left on the patio. Sometimes we’d use the briquettes and throw some hot dogs on the grill to feed the movers. When they were gone, often after sunset, we would toast farewell to our former home with a margarita, or when lacking margarita mix, a shot of tequila, or when lacking a glass, we’d just pass the bottle. If our neighbors weren’t also moving (with their own box of unpackables to deal with) we would gift the last of our liquids to them. It is possible that the same bottle of Worcestershire sauce has been passed from house to house in the same neighborhood for many years. Maybe I should write a story from the Worcestershire bottle’s point of view! It could be my version of the Traveling Pants story!

In 2008 my husband retired from the Army. We haven’t moved since and recently celebrated 14 years in the same house where last winter I actually emptied a bottle of Worcestershire sauce – until then I didn’t know that it gets kind of icky near the bottom of the bottle. There were other unexpected things I learned when I stopped moving: Such as the need to wash curtains and clean the carpet every now and then.  And after a lifetime of absentee ballots I’ve been delighted to learn that the volunteers at my local polling station know me by name.

In a writing workshop an instructor taught a technique of zooming in on a small detail, then zooming back out to see what you can write about the detail.

While changing from a nomadic lifestyle to living in one place my perspective continues shifting – even 14 years later! As I’m zooming in, then zooming back out I notice small things in my environment – like the magnolia tree doesn’t bloom at the exact same time every year, and perennial flowers take years to get perfect – military wives prefer annuals because we don’t stay in one place long enough to see perennials mature. And an empty can of Pam doesn’t make any noise when you shake it.

In my writing I’m continuously working on character and point of view. Zooming in helps. If your character is moving, what’s left on their counter? What do the unpackables reveal about your character?

Barbara J. Eikmeier is a quilter, writer, student of quilt history, and lover of small-town America. Raised on a dairy farm in California, she enjoys placing her characters in rural communities.

Getting Stronger

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By Barbara J. Eikmeier

I lift weights. Twice a week my husband and I go to the gym.
The nutritionist at the army health clinic told me about the weight training
room. She said as we age it is important to do weight bearing exercises to keep
our bones strong and joints limber. “Just go twice a week. Go in the middle of
the day – there’s no one there at that time.”

Another year passed before I went. The catalyst was my
annual cholesterol check. I begged for 6 months of diet and lifestyle changes
before going on medication. Thus, the gym – and less wine and more veggies.

But there is another reason I started lifting weights. I had
become weak. When I travel to give quilt presentations, I bring multiple suitcases stuffed with quilts, pushing the airlines 50-pound weight limit with
those big bags. The check-in agent, eyeing my bags, would say, “put that up
here” motioning with their chin to the scale. I’d laugh and say, “It’s not over
50 pounds because I can’t lift 50 pounds.” Each spring, when my travel season
began it was true, I couldn’t lift 50 pounds, but as the trips added up, I
could feel myself getting stronger. Yes, that may have been me holding up the line
while pulling items from an overweight suitcase and stuffing them in my carry-on. Just by handling
those heavy bags I became stronger. Strong enough to lift more than 50 pounds
by the end of the season.

Then came Covid-19 and my work became a series of Zoom
presentations. And I grew weak.

When my travels resumed, I lifted my bag onto the scale that
first trip and it was heavy! I was visualizing what I could move to my carry-on
bag just as the scale settled on 43 pounds. Only 43 pounds? I quickly moved shoes and jeans from my carry-on to the checked bag. That’s
because I have another problem once I board the plane – getting my carry-on in
the overhead bin. My rule is, if I can’t lift it myself, I must check it. But
I’m 5’3” and it’s not a matter of strength as much as a matter of height. (At
least that’s what I always tell the nice tall man in the aisle seat who jumps
up to help me!)

The army gym is not a flashy place. It’s old, and kind of
run down. I wish someone would sweep the floor. It’s often only the two of us there.
It’s quiet, almost meditative. But when soldiers come in the atmosphere
changes. They are young, and strong, and physically fit. They sweat and grunt
and the weights come clanging down as they finish their routines. There’s a
demand for the best machines and a polite toe taping or pacing when they must wait. Among
the most popular machines is the leg press – it’s for the quads and glutes. I
like it. And the sit up machine. I like it too. And there is the Graviton
machine. It’s meant to condition your arms to do pull ups. I can’t do a pull
up. I’m not sure this machine can even help me get there. But I do it. Every
time.

There is a less popular machine called the Overhead Press. My
husband skips it. He explained, “I don’t think there is much benefit in that
machine.” I said, “I hate this machine.” He asked, “Then why do you do it?” I said,
“Watch my arms.” I lifted the weights over my head. He watched. I lowered the
weights and said, “It’s the muscles used to put my carry-on in the overhead
bin.”

The gym, even on the slowest days, is a good place to shop
for character traits. There’s another older couple who come in wearing street clothes,
and each do a few machines, talking the entire time. Their workout takes 10
minutes. Should that even count as a workout? Who am I to judge?

And there is a young woman who
runs on the treadmill in the cardio room before lifting weights. Her dark hair is
pulled back in a bouncy ponytail. I like following her on the weight circuit
because she is my height, so our settings are the same.  I don’t know anything about her but in my
writer’s mind she is an Army lawyer. She runs fast and lifts fast and is very focused.  

And there is a group of firefighters from the post fire station. They move from machine to machine keeping their hand radios within reach. Their big red firetruck is just outside the gym parked along the curb, ready to go at a moment’s notice. One of them wears a bandanna around his head, Karate Kid style. Another harasses his buddy to speed it up on the Biceps machine. His buddy’s response is to go slower.

And my favorite, the retired marine whose
shaved head glistens with sweat when he works out. He looks intimidating – all
muscle and sinew. He only does three machines but with many reps and huge
stacks of weights. One day I asked him, “Do you alternate upper body and lower
body workouts?” He smiled. Maybe you’ve heard the term ‘resting bitch face’?
This guy has resting ‘fierce face’. He looks scary. But when the marine smiles
his face will melt your heart a little. He shows his bright white teeth, his
double dimples dimple and the deep creases in his forehead relax. And over that
one question we became friends. He took me to the free weight room down the
hall and taught me how to use a standing machine for an intense abs’ workout.
He said, “You are a little short, but you are doing it perfectly.” He told me
it’s easy to talk yourself into skipping the gym, like 90% of the people he
knows. With that gorgeous grin he added, “Now if only I had a refrigerator that
automatically locked at 6 pm, I’d be in good shape!”

I lift weights. I’m getting stronger and my character file
is growing. What’s your favorite place to shop for characters?

Barbara J. Eikmeier is a quilter, writer, student of quilt
history, and lover of small-town America. Raised on a dairy farm in California,
she enjoys placing her characters in rural communities.

Fake Eyelashes

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 By Barbara J. Eikmeier

Not long ago while watching the news my husband said, “That
lady must have something in her eye, look how she’s blinking.”

I watched for a few seconds, noticing her beautiful eye makeup
and said, “Nah, she’s doing that because she’s wearing fake eyelashes.”

I recognized the rapid blinking from my own eyelash
experience.  It was while recording an
instructional quilting series in Golden, CO. The on-site stylist
asked, “How do you want your makeup? Natural?”

It was a quilting program. The camera was going to be on my
hands more than my face, but I was sitting on a tall black director chair with
movie star lighting framing the mirror. The stylist’s big box of foundation,
eye shadow and lipstick overflowed onto the counter. I wanted it all. 

The stylist told me her normal job – pre-Covid, was doing hair
and makeup for the Denver news station. I sat up straighter. I was in the hands
of a pro. As she talked, I saw her pull out a tray of eyelashes. Surprised I
asked, “You’re giving me fake eyelashes?” She smiled and said “Of course I am –
just like the ladies on the news!”

She glued them in place. My eyes watered. I blinked. And
blinked. I couldn’t stop. She moved on to my hair but I saw her watching my tears.
Now my nose was running. I sniffled. She handed me a tissue and said, “Blot,
don’t wipe.”  She promised me I’d be used
to them before filming started. 

 

By the time she spritzed me with 12-hour hair spray my eyes
had stopped watering. I went into the studio. The young sound tech hooked me up
to a wireless mic. He said, “Say something.” I said, “How do you like my
eyelashes?” I wanted him to say I looked like a star. Instead, he hesitated
then said, “They probably feel like a bigger deal to you then they look to me,
but they’re nice.”

I turned to Camera A. The camera man, wearing a headset, had
heard the exchange. He grinned and said, “He’s right, but you look good.” I
looked at Camera B. A different camera man gave me a thumbs up. I shrugged and
said, “Okay then, let’s quilt” and I started to forget about my fake eyelashes. 

I wore fake eyelashes every day that week. I loved them but
by evening my eyelids were drooping from the weight. I reluctantly peeled them
off. They looked like spider legs in my hand. My eyes watered. I blinked. I
went to bed. The next day I woke to find my eyelids crusted together, as if I’d
been weeping while I slept.

As I watched the woman on the screen I thought about my
protagonist. Would she like fake eyelashes?  I could write about her eyes watering, her
nose dripping, and show her blotting, not wiping, her cheeks flushed with the embarrassment
of having someone watch her blink back tears. 
In my head I heard her say: “Be realistic! I live on a farm in
Kansas!”  So no, she isn’t getting fake
eyelashes but using my real life experience I think I can show some pretty
convincing tears!

Barbara J. Eikmeier is a quilter, writer, student of quilt
history, and lover of small-town America. Raised on a dairy farm in California,
she enjoys placing her characters in rural communities.
 

The Year of the Tiger

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 by Barbara J. Eikmeier

2022 is the year of the tiger. As images of Lunar New Year
celebrations scrolled across social media, I remembered that my son was born in
the year of the tiger. Immediately I knew, with a little shock, that he will be
36 this year.  It’s not that I always
know the current ages of my adult children off the top of my head. It’s
because of the tiger. 

While living In South Korea, a culture where respect to
elders is expressed with a more formal form of language, I noticed a Korean
national’s need to establish who is older when meeting someone for the first
time. With different generations it may be obvious who is the elder but when
ages are closer it can be awkward since it’s also considered rude to ask
someone their age.  If only there was a 12-year
age span tool to help narrow the gap. Enter the Chinese zodiac.

My Korean language tutor, Kang Ok, thought it was amusing
that Americans, when describing a person, would always tell hair and eye color
and approximate age, such as “He’s in his late 30s.” She admitted she had a
hard time telling a westerner’s age and she taught me a trick to determine an
age span.

Kang Ok demonstrated by saying, “I was born in the year of
the dragon.”

I immediately replied, “I’m the year of the pig,” (according
to the red paper placemat at every Chinese restaurant in America.)

It was exactly what she was expecting me to say. Kang Ok,
because she’s Korean and has the order of the twelve Chinese Zodiac animals memorized, knew
that I was either five years or (add 12) 17 years older than her. So, although she
was my teacher, which implies I use the more formal language when addressing
her, I was her elder, requiring her form of language to change
as well. 

Kang Ok, went on to tell me that Koreans think females born in the
year of the dragon are strong willed. She added, “But I was born during
daylight hours so it’s not as bad!”

Once I was on to the secret, I tried it with other Korean
friends. In the process I learned that when Kang Ok told me she was the year of
the dragon – the same as my daughter Sarah, I could immediately know that Kang Ok
was at least 12 years older than Sarah. It just so happened it was the year
of the dragon at the time. My daughter was 12. Now I knew, without asking, that
Kang Ok was 24 years old.

It’s been 20+ years since I’ve lived in Korea. I’m back to just
asking a person their age. I thought about my writing where I may flat out say,
‘he was 30 years old’, which works just fine, but if my characters have
different cultural experiences, maybe I needn’t be so blunt. The dialog could
be as simple as when Kang Ok tested me with: “I was born in the year of the
dragon.” To which a Korean might reply with raised eyebrows, “Dragon Lady? I’m
the pig.” To which Kang Ok would laugh and say, “Don’t worry, I was born during the day.” As the characters part ways, Kang Ok, could think, for example, “He’s
too old. He wouldn’t have been a student there at the time of the murder.” You
never have to say his age. But Kang Ok knows his age and has eliminated him as
a suspect.

What else can you extract from the Chinese Zodiac placemat
to use in your character development?   A dragon lady has great potential to be a strong female
character, but you might find other traits, compatibilities and opposites to work into your writing. So, if you don’t spill the egg drop soup or lose noodles from your chopsticks you can save that paper placemat for your writing folder!

As for me, I’m off to think up the perfect Year
of the Tiger gift for my son.

Barbara J. Eikmeier lived in Seoul, South Korea for two years. She is a quilter, writer, student of quilt
history, and lover of small-town America. Raised on a dairy farm in California,
she enjoys placing her characters in rural communities.


 

Write What You Know

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By Barbrara J. Eikmeier

Hi! I’m a newcomer on the blog. Let me introduce myself: Most people call me Barb but I always use my full name when I’m writing. I live in Kansas where my full time job is a quilting designer, teacher and author. I travel all around the country (and via Zoom) giving quilting programs for quilt guilds. I go to California regularly where I co-own a retail quilt shop with my sister in law. I’ve written how-to instructional books and many magazine articles about quilters and quilting. And, I’m writing a novel that, of course, has a quilt in it. Quilting is what I know.

“Write what you know” is good advice. Your writing will ring
authentic. But what if you’re seeking a quirky character for your novel? Or you
need a fresh new location for a bad turn of events? Maybe it’s time to watch TV.

Recently, during a layover at the Denver airport, I noticed a
group wearing hats with National Finals Rodeo logos. They were on their way
home from the annual Las Vegas event. We chatted a bit and I said, “My 91-year-old
father watches the NFR every year. He knows all those cowboys and their
fathers!”

As I traveled, I considered what I knew about the NFR or
rodeos in general. The answer was: Not much.

I was on my way to take a turn helping my parents. Seeing
those traveler’s hats reminded me that, for the second consecutive year, I’d be
watching the NFR every evening with my dad. I’ve discovered I don’t have to
know much about rodeo to enjoy watching it. The trick is to watch with someone
who knows the competitors, their records, their horses and their fathers! Every
evening a different family member joined us. My knowledge expanded with each
event as my dad and brothers explained rules, mistakes, and the history of the
commentator’s own rodeo days.  When a bull
ride is only eight seconds long the lineup of competitors whizzes by and it’s on
to the next event, so if it’s boring (!) or painful to watch, the misery doesn’t
last long!

After five days of NFR broadcasts, I don’t have enough
knowledge to write a cowboy as a main character, or the arena as a primary
location, but I’m thinking about it. I mentioned to my brother, “Maybe I should
go in person.”

He laughed and said, “It’s sold out two years in advance.”

I checked. It is. And tickets range from $120 – $450 per
night. That’s expensive research.

During my college days I spent a summer riding on a cattle
ranch. I’m not a natural horsewoman. That is not me in the picture, although I once made the mistake of entering an arena on a well trained horse named Barbie. I didn’t know what to do, but she sure did! I haven’t ridden in eons, but the
experience gave me enough background to write a tack room into my novel. And I wrote
a character who breeds and breaks horses.

I thought I’d written all I could
about horses and cowboys. Now, after watching the NFR, I’m pondering a
character who is absent from home while riding the rodeo circuit. Or maybe I’ll
write about a former record setting cowboy who now works as a commentator at an annual small town rodeo. Or I
might have a young woman pass through on her quest to break a title in barrel
racing. She could make an interesting walk-on character when she needs a place
to board her horse overnight. I have new ideas for dialog. Phrases like, “He’s
out of the money,” or “There will be no buckle for him” should resonate with a
reader who knows rodeo. And, the arena could be the scene of an accident, a
death or foul play, not to mention eight seconds of tension during the bare back bronc
ride.

There’s a new item on my to-do list: Find a golf enthusiast to
watch a PGA tournament with. I don’t know much about golf. Yet.

Barbara J. Eikmeier is a quilter, author, student of quilt
history, and lover of small-town America. Raised on a dairy farm in northern California,
she enjoys placing her characters in rural communities.