Tag Archive for: family

Thoughts on an aging mother

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By Barbara J Eikmeier

My mother, at age 91, helped me up off the floor. It was one of those moments that will stay with me for a long time.

Dementia has left her passive. Arthritis has left her bent over at the waist and often in pain. She uses a walker, moves very slowly, and needs help with most aspects of her care.

Thanks to my dad’s careful financial planning and the round-the-clock caregivers we’ve hired, she still lives in the farmhouse in California where I was raised. I visit her from Kansas for a week or so every month or two. She has become quiet, rarely voicing descent in a conversation, often confused about who I am.

But I still know her.

So, I tell her about my travels, and my children. I show her my embroidery projects and tell her about the book I’m reading.

She thinks I’m her sister. Or one of my sisters.

She tells me “They don’t let me do anything.” Mostly I think she’s bored. After all, she had a busy life. She raised nine children, was active in her church, helped on the dairy farm, and took care of the 20 heifers we raised every year. She did all the bookkeeping and read the daily paper and listened to the evening news. She mended clothing, baked cookies, and served dinner for a crowd every night. Now she paints with water and watches cartoons.

She doesn’t know me, but she remembers how to spoon leftovers into Tupperware, so I set her up at her place at the kitchen table and  leave pot roast and potatoes, lettuce and broccoli next to an assortment of containers. She can perform this task perfectly, without help.

She thinks I’m her sister, but she can use a seam ripper to fix my sewing mistake. So, I gave her a seam ripper and showed her the stitching that needed to come out. She finished in no-time, after all, she was an expert seamstress earlier in her life.

I showed her the grapefruit I picked from her tree. She sniffed it and said, “It’s too old.” I cut it in half and showed her again. She poked at the dry, grainy segments and said, “Throw it away.”

When I’m with her I sometimes need to escort her to the bathroom. She washed her hands and said, “I think my shoe strap has come undone.” I squatted, my bottom nearly brushing the floor as I checked the Velcro on her navy Mary Janes. “It’s ok Mom, but now I have to get up!” I do squats at the gym, but I don’t go that low. My thighs were screaming, but the bathroom is so tiny, and I was trapped between my mother and her walker.  If I leaned forward, I risked toppling into her. That’s when my mother, permanently bent over at the waist, her arms dangling in front of her, reached out, just enough to put her hands around my torso, tuck her palms into my armpits and lift. I popped right up. She smiled and said with a nod, “We have to work together on these kinds of things.”

It’s been a long time since my mother has said my name, but that day, she put her arms around me and for a split second she was the nurturer again.

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.

July 2023 Summertime in Southern Colorado By Juliana Cha Cha de Cochiti Pueblo, New Mexico de la cruz Aragón Fatula

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Dear Reader,

This is the story that I want to write and read. Something no one else can write. Only I can tell this story. It is my story about two talented Chicanas from Pueblo, Colorado who solve crimes and mysteries and run Emma’s Recovery House for women and children. L.A. and Eva Mondragón Private Investigators and social activists in Denver, Colorado honoring their mother by helping the unfortunate. There but for the grace of God, go I.

Summertime and living is easy. The tide has finally rolled out and we are beginning to enjoy the peace, quiet, and solitude of retirement and our golden years.

I’ve been working since I was twelve years old. My first job, babysitting, taught me how to take care of a baby, my nephew.

My second job, I was fifteen and pregnant, taught me how to clean and scrub toilets at the beauty shop owned by the only Latina beautician in town, Dee. She gave me my first office cleaning job.

Eventually, I gained employment scrubbing the toilets of the local doctors, lawyers, judges, and politicians. Their houses never seemed dirty to me, but I dusted, swept, vacuumed, mopped, and cleaned windows and bathrooms.

My mother cleaned houses, but she also ironed and washed the clothes of her employers and they gave my mom their children’s hand-me-downs and toys. Even though we were poor, we dressed nice and had great toys, bikes, sleds, skateboards, Suzy Easy Bake Oven…

The rich loved my mom’s cooking. She made the best tamales in the county. They gave her their children’s possessions as they outgrew them. We in turn gave our clothes and toys to the white family down the block because they were even poorer than we were in our family.

Mom and Dad taught us never to make fun of those poor white kids who wore our hand-me-downs. Our parents taught us respect, morals, ethics, honesty, kindness, and generosity, and gave us unconditional love. (Don’t know how I turned out semi-normal).

I worked through the summer of 1972 and by the fall, my friends had returned to high school sophomore year. I left my small hometown in Southern Colorado and moved to San Francisco, California.

The culture shock was minimal but the homesickness was maximum. I missed my family and my friends but not my hometown. I was thrilled to be living in the Bay area and enjoyed my fifteenth birthday, my boyfriend, and my baby boy. I had no clue what I was doing.

My California romance ended, and I returned to Colorado and my parents. I returned to my hometown high school and found my next job at the communication monopoly known then as Mountain Bell.

At sixteen I was the first person of color in my hometown to work at a major corporation like Mt. Bell as a telephone operator. Thanks to the Equal Employment Opportunity Act and Family Planning I was able to rent an apartment, buy a car, and support myself and my son and get healthcare for us. Mt. Bell also hired the first male telephone operator in the county. He happened to be gay but was closeted in our small, town of 99.99% Caucasian in 1973.

I celebrated my eighteenth birthday in the ICU in the hospital in my hometown after nearly bleeding to death in the ER restroom. I had an ectopic pregnancy that burst when I was packing to move to Denver. I lost my left ovary and fallopian tube and lived to tell the story.

I transferred to Denver and left my hometown. I was a customer service representative for Mt. Bell in their downtown Denver high-rise. I met people from all walks of life and became part of a diverse community. I loved living in Denver. I transferred several times to better-paying jobs and climbed the corporate ladder. I learned job skills and networked with coworkers from around the country.

I never gave up on my dream of graduating from college. I made my goal of a degree in English and Creative Writing a priority in my life. Eventually, I earned several degrees and my teaching certificate.

When my Dad died, I returned to my hometown to be near my mother in her golden years. I was hired by the school district and taught in the same building I had attended in my freshman year of high school.

I had come full circle, but I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted to push myself. I challenged myself to write and get published. The year I graduated, Conundrum Press published  my first book of poetry, Crazy Chicana in Catholic City, a year later my second book of poetry, Red Canyon Falling on Churches, was published.

I graduated with honors from CSU Pueblo in 2008 at 50 years old, published two poetry books and a chapbook, The Road I Ride Bleeds, and decided to challenge myself to write my first novel.

I’ve always loved the mystery genre. I naturally chose to write a love story mystery. I don’t want to write a good novel. I want to write a great novel. I joined several national writing groups and networked with writers, editors, journalists, and publishers. I read books on writing by the masters: Stephen King, Ernest Hemmingway, Linda Rodriquez, etc.

I set my self-imposed deadline of July 15, 2023, to finish revising my m.s. I’ve been writing this novel off and on for five years. Stopping when life gets too crazy and starting again when I figure out how to survive the global pandemic, my son’s drug addiction, his heart attack, his stroke, his brain damage, and his death at fifty.

In December of 2022, my husband and I both had covid and weeks of illness. Then came the death threat to my husband by my nephew and the subpoena to testify against him in court.

One day I shook off all of the pain and grief and went back to work on my novel and worked harder than I ever had before. I realized with my son’s death at only fifty years of age that I could die at any minute from anything and needed to complete my book, publish my book, and then I could die, but not until then. I added to my bucket list: publish a great mystery love story and spread my message of diversity, inclusivity, peace, love, and understanding and do it with a sense of humor and dun dun dun, mystery.

Today I’m chilling. I’m waiting for feedback from my editor and her critique for revisions and submitting my novel. I truly have hopes of submitting to all the Latinx/Chicanx publishers. There are few but they do exist, and I want to start with them first. It also is important to me to submit with an LGBTQ publisher because many of my characters are lesbian, gay, transgender, bisexual, and queer and have important messages to teach about being marginalized.

Many of the women characters in my novel living at Emma’s Recovery House are recovering drug addicts, alcoholics, inmates, human trafficking victims, runaways, abused, confused, and used women looking for a new life, a new start, a fresh chance to survive in a world gone crazy. They have been judged, mistreated, abandoned, beaten, and ignored as worthy human beings with something to contribute to society. I want to tell their stories of wicked warrior women with survivor attitudes and joyful spirits.

Sock Stories by Debra H. Goldstein

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SOCK STORIES by Debra H. Goldstein
Have you ever
noticed the socks a person wears? Like the words a writers put on paper, each
pair tells a story or evokes images or feelings.

For example, my
husband wears dark socks to his office because he has bought into the theory that they look more  look more professional than gym socks, but his disinterest in how he dresses is reflected by his
unwillingness to take the time to match the color of his socks to the shade of his slacks.
He’s just as likely to wear black with brown as he is to grab a pair of brown
socks. Joel is most comfortable in gym socks and sneakers. To my chagrin, his yucky
looking tube socks and an old pair of slip-ons are the image indelibly pressed
into our neighbors’ minds when they seem him going outside every morning to
retrieve his precious newspaper.

A young man I
know tells a different story through his sock choices. He considers himself to
be a player. Consequently, he coordinates the sharpest socks I’ve ever seen
with tailor made suits and shirts, as well as specialized pocket handkerchiefs
or patterned ties.

Personally, I’ve
always been fond of wearing socks that tell a story or bring a memory back to
me. I wear Chanukah, Mah jongg, and other holiday socks to make a statement for
the moment, much as one does with a Christmas sweater. On a bad day, I choose
between the comfort afforded by two pairs of warm soft fuzzy socks.

Last week, when
we took a family cruise to Alaska, the socks I ended up wearing not only
created a story for the moment, but became part of memories I will pull up in
the future.

The ages in
our group ranged from five to seventy-five. I wasn’t the oldest, but I easily
was the group’s cattle herder. Before we sailed, I reminded everyone to bring
passports, cold weather and rain gear (and of course our coldest day was 72
degrees and the only time it rained was once while we were sleeping), and other
essentials. I chided, sent e-mails, and while packing managed to leave my air
pushed out of it plastic bag of socks on the dining room table.

I arrived on
the ship with only the striped sneaker socks I was wearing, but never fear,
cruise ships sell everything. That is why I am now the owner of pink and purple
socks that all say Alaska and have moose heads, full sized mooses, bears, and
something I’m not sure of on them.

Each morning,
as I pulled on a pair of these socks, they reminded me I was sharing Alaska with
people who matter to me more than anything else. The animals, background
mountains, and whatever it was on one pair that I wasn’t sure of, also made a statement
that this would be a day of new experiences and beautiful terrain.

Our most
varied day was in Juneau. For us, it was the day of the glaciers. Joel and I
took the most sedate way of seeing them – busing and hiking to lookout points,
but even from a distance, the beauty of massive pieces of ice broken from the
main glacier fascinated me. What I saw and the ranger’s movie made me ever so
much more aware of global warming because of how the glacier itself has
receded. My daughter and her husband kayaked out to the glacier; my two sons
took a float plane into the glacier area; and our five year old grand-daughter and
her parents visited a dog camp and rode a dog sled. Everyone came back to the
ship impressed by what we experienced.

From now on,
whenever I put on a pair of my Alaskan socks, I will remember the looks of
happiness everyone had while telling me about their day.

My initial
anger at forgetting my socks has been replaced by the stories my new ones will
always unlock. Whenever I see the pink moose or either “Moose Hug” or “Alaska” on my socks, memories and
scenes from the cruise will be triggered – much as words create mental images
in a good book, short story or poem.

Holiday Strategy

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It’s that time of year again. The holidays.  Starbucks is apparently hating Jesus because
they continued their paired back design aesthetic and put out simple red
cups.  (Yes, because from hell’s heart
they stab at Christians with a red cup filled with the artfully foamed blood of
the saints – muwahhahahahah!!) Black Friday ads are starting to pop up
everywhere (stampede!!) and relatives are booking flights and scrambling to
arrange schedules so that everyone can see everyone and be annoyed by everyone
all in a very short amount of time.
As yet, I have made no moves on the great holiday game
board. I’m still trying to determine strategy. Do I try and ride the “I have a
baby” thing for another year and do practically nothing? Or do I pull out all
the stops and try to get the best gifts EVER for everyone?  Should I shoot for every holiday party I’m
invited to, or do I try and find out everyone’s dates in advance and RSVP
according to the level of food awesomeness at each?  Generally, I try and do a really fun
Christmas card, but that takes energy, forethought, and great idea for some
artwork.  Maybe I’ll just skip that one
and move straight to the Christmas letter stage where I make friends and
relatives barf with the saccharine sweetness and absolute perfection of my
life. BECAUSE YOUR ENVY FEEDS MY SOUL. That’s definitely what the holidays are
all about, right?
Below are the following factors I’m using for determining my
holiday event strategy:
1.  Pie. 
  • Is there pie?   If the
    answer is yes, move to the top of the list.
  • Is it home made?  If the answer is no, then I don’t go.

2.  Sleep.
  • Will it cause my baby to be awake far longer than a tiny
    human should be?  If the answer is yes,
    your event will not be considered. 
    Unless there is enormous amounts of pie.

3.  Husband.
  • On a scale of 1 to 10, how badly is he going to complain
    about this event?  If the answer is ballet, then he will not be attending.
  • Can I bribe him with pie?

What are your strategies for coping with the oncoming
storm?  Hunker down or go fly a
kite?  What is your favorite way to do
the holidays?
Bethany Maines is the author of the Carrie
Mae Mysteries, Tales from the City of
Destiny and An Unseen Current.
 You can also view the Carrie Mae youtube video
or catch up with her on Twitter and Facebook.

In Pursuit of Boredom

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by Bethany Maines

‘Tis the day before Christmas and all through the house all
the adults were panicking because… apparently, that’s what adults do?  I swear when I was a kid there was not
this much holiday panic. Did my parents just have it more together?  I remember the cleaning freak-out of
throwing everything in a closet moments before guests arrive, but I don’t
remember all of this “NOT ENOUGH TIME.” 
I don’t mind being old. There are those that say I’ve been a
grumpy old man since I was 21. 
Which I dispute; I’m not a man for one thing.  And I don’t believe I’m grumpy, so much as, based in a
reality that doesn’t like to admit idiots.  Anyway, I don’t mind being old.  There’s lots of wisdom to be gained in the aging process,
but I do wish we could go back to the childhood days when I used to get
bored.  Being bored takes an
extended amount of time.  You have
to have a good run of nothing to do and Wheel of Fortune re-runs to get well
and truly bored.  And who has time
for that anymore?  I have a hard
time squeezing in the hours to read a good book (let alone write one)!

So for Christmas, if you want to give me a gift – don’t. Or
better yet, give me the gift of not asking me to do anything. Just join me on
the couch for another viewing of Die Hard (a great Christmas movie) and pass
the cookie tin.  I wish the same to
you and yours this holiday season! 



Bethany Maines
is the author of the Carrie Mae Mystery series and Tales
from the City of Destiny. You can also view the Carrie Mae youtube video or catch up with her on Twitter and Facebook.

Juggling Again–or Should I Say Still?

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Because I have a new book on the scene, the latest Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery, River Spirits, I am really juggling a lot.

One of my earlier books in the series, Bears With Us, will be offered for .99 cents on Kindle from October 13- 17, which will take a lot of promoting.

Through the month of November, I’ll be on a virtual blog tour–something I like doing but is a lot of work. I’ve already done a lot in preparation, but while it’s going on it will take a lot of time to let people know where I am visiting.

I’m also involved in several in-person events this month, on the 11th, I’ll be at The Taste of the Arts, in Visalia, CA from 10 to 4 and on October 18th from 10 to 4, the Great Valley Bookfest in Manteca, CA. and on the 25th I’m participating in a panel with the Central Coast Sisters in Crime at the Atascadero Library where we’ll be discussing the age of e-publishing.

And guess what, I’m also writing the next book in the Rocky Bluff P.D. series, which means I really do have to concentrate on it too.

I know that many of my author friends don’t have children, a few not even a husband to worry about, but I have 4 adult children, 18 grandkids, and 15 great-grands. When possible I love spending time with them. And of course, this is where the juggling comes in. My family comes first even if that means I have to get up earlier than usual or stay up later to take care of my writing commitments.

Here is the cover of River Spirits and as usual, the artist has captured the essence of the title.


Blurb: While filming a movie on the Bear Creek Indian
Reservation, the film crew trespasses on sacred ground, threats are made
against the female stars, a missing woman is found by the Hairy Man, an actor
is murdered and Deputy Tempe Crabtree has no idea who is guilty. Once again,
the elusive and legendary Hairy Man plays an important role in this newest
Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery.

Available in all formats from the publisher: http://mundania.com/ and from all the usual places.

Marilyn

In-Person Book Events and Life

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Though I didn’t set out to do many in-person book related events, I have quite a full schedule for the rest of the year.

The last weekend in July, I participated with three other authors at an afternoon of booksigning and discussion at a book store in another city. (We have no bookstores close by.)

On the first Saturday of August, I”ll be joining other mystery writers at the San Joaquin chapter of Sisters in Crime.

August 9th, I’ll be over at the coast at the Nipomo Library’s book and craft fair. I’ve done this event for several years. A fun one because I have so many friends who participate.

September 10th, I’m headed to Southern California to be on a panel with other mystery writers from the Los Angeles chapter of Sisters in Crime at the Burbank Library.

October 11th will find me in Oak Tree Press’s booth at the Art Fair in Visalia.

We’ll be heading north to Manteca for the Great Valley Book Fair on October 18th.

In November, the 7th and 8th, I’ll have my books on display and for sale with the Porterville Art Association’s Christmas Boutique at the Porterville Gallery.

In the meantime, I’ve been having fun with my great-grands.

Julius sees the big dinosaurs for the first time.

Great-grandson Julius, just turned 3, loves dinosaurs and has a collection of little ones. His grandparents took him to a dinosaur display of big ones that moved and roared. He wasn’t quite sure if he liked them or not. 
Lot of pictures were taken and he told me about each dinosaur and their names. Soon after this, he got a haircut.

We are expecting another great-grand this month. She’ll join her sister who is almost 2. That will make the count 14 of the great-grands, with #15 arriving in September.

Having a big family is a blessed distraction. I know not many get the privilege of knowing their great-grands.

And that brings you up-to-date with me.

I did know my great-grandmother, and she lived until I was 12. She seemed very old to me, so I suspect I seem very old to all these youngsters.

Marilyn

Family Reunion

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By Dru Ann L. Love

I recently attended my first family reunion ever. We gathered in North Carolina to meet my mother’s paternal family that still resides in the area. My mom went up north when she was 18 years old and hasn’t been to her father’s hometown ever since, until 6 years ago when by chance we met two of my cousins who live in the same town where my niece attends college.

Then last year, the cousins started prepping for a reunion on Facebook and that’s where I discovered all these lost cousins and relatives I’ve never known. I was determined that both me and my mother would be attending this reunion and what a joyous time we had.

I learned the history of my family – and saw the house where the matriarch grew up and raised her 12 kids. Eight descendants of the twelve children were there from over ten different states. The oldest person attending the reunion was 95 and the youngest was two. I learned that we have an author in the family, educators, events planner, philanthropist and entrepreneurs to name a few.

I feel truly blessed that I have found and reconnected with my family.

Have you ever attended a family reunion? What was the outcome?

Everything Has been on Hold Because–

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Our granddaughter, Jessi, her hubby Jerry, and their baby girl Aleena came to visit for a week. (Our pear tree is blooming in the background.)

Jessi lived with me and her grandpa off and one for most of her growing up years and for a short while after she and Jerry married. Then they moved to North Carolina because Jerry got a great job there.  Needless to say we spent as much time with her as possible while she was here.

Here she is with her dad, Matthew, our youngest son. He is recovering well from his near-death experience and this visit helped a lot.

Aleena at Lake Success, near our home.

This one is Jessi with her brother, Nick, and Aleena and his two kids, Julius and Kay’Lee.

And this one is with Jessi and her grandpa (my hubby, of course.)

Sadly, they left Sunday afternoon and now it’s time for me to get back to work.

Marilyn

The Good and the Bad About Living in A Big Old House

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We’ve lived in our home here in the foothills for 29 years. The house was old when we moved in. It was in the days before disclosure and there were many things wrong that we found out after the papers were all signed and we were settled in.

Along with the house we took over a residential care business which meant we lived in and cared for six women with developmental disabilities. This was a job my husband and I loved and we did it for 23 years–until we felt we were too old to do the job the way it needed to be done and life became complicated. Hubby and a son got sick at the same time and our focus needed to change.

A few feet away from the main house is a guest house which has been home to many over the years. First to live there were my mom and dad. My dad passed away and my mom decided to move with my sister to Las Vegas.

For a short while, my middle daughter and her husband lived there.

Next to move in that house were my granddaughter, husband, and three kids.

Now the little house is occupied by my son, his wife, and another granddaughter.

Before they lived there, when that granddaughter was in grammar school she lived in the big house with us during the week so she could go to our little neighborhood school.

We had two grandsons living with us during the time we had our care home. One went back to be with his mom, the other we had from the time he was 11 until he was 20 and went off on his own.

And, guess what, we have another adult grandson–different family–living with us again.

Most of the time everyone eats with us, probably a good thing because I have no idea how to cook for 2 since I’ve cooked for eight or more for years. Daughter-in-law helps and she always cleans up after dinner. Because the dining area is big and we have a round table that seats 12, we host most of the holiday dinners too.

Whether having all these family members under our roof is a plus or a minus depends upon the day. (I’m kidding.) Actually, now that hubby and I are getting older it’s kind of nice to have younger, stronger folks around to help out.

Over the years we’ve done a lot of remodeling: added car ports, extended the living room and built a bedroom and bath upstairs, did over the kitchen, and once our ladies had moved on to other homes, we changed a little sitting room into my office and did over two of the bedrooms the women used into one bedroom for us and modernized the bathroom. And of course we’ve had to fix all sorts of things from the water well to bringing in natural gas instead of using a wood stove to heat the house. (Yes, we did and what a chore that was.) We also have solar to cut down on the electric bill which has always been huge with so many people living here.

Besides the relatives who’ve resided with us over the years, we also have a resident ghost. Everyone who has shared our house has said so, some little ones insisted on sleeping with us rather than one of the many empty bedrooms we’ve had from time to time.

Doors open and close on their own, cupboard doors pop open, I hear someone come into the house and call out, but no one is there. Does this scare me? No. I don’t think ghosts can hurt–only frighten if you’re so inclined.

This has been a great house to write in. When we took care of the women, I had a small office in what used to be a sun porch. When the gals went off to their day program I wrote all morning while doing the laundry–something that had to be done every day. Now I have a larger office with lots of storage.

The first year we lived here, I received my first acceptance letter. I’ve belonged to the same critique group since my first year here. I’m known as Springville’s author–a plus of being in a small town.

I love the area where we live–we’re surrounded by hills and can see huge mountains which are still snow covered and will be for awhile. The Tule River flows right by us and we have a great swimming hole which all the family uses in the summer time.

My Deputy Tempe Crabtree mysteries are set in a place like Springville though I’ve renamed it Bear Creek and moved it up in the mountains another 1000 feet. People who live here recognize places I write about and love it. We’re near an Indian reservation and I include it in the books too–though again changed the name to the Bear Creek Indian Reservation. Ever so often a Native American will come up to me when I’m at craft festival and say, “You’re the lady who writes about us.”

Yes, I love where I live–the house and the area–both have been an inspiration for many of my books.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com/