Author Angel Ackerman

The magic in downtown Easton

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

Ever since my husband and I moved there circa 1998, downtown Easton has always been a magical place for me. I have lived there, worked there, dined there, and seen the neighborhood grow and change, businesses come and go.

Easton PA and Phillipsburg NJ were both struggling fiercely then, and fine artists were starting to buy property and set up studios in Easton. A lot of my favorite people came to Easton in this way. Phillipsburg had hoped to redevelop industrial lands (which, as in the trend now, has become warehouses) and attract railroad-related tourism.

For those who are not local, while these two towns are in different states, they are only separated by a river– the Delaware River– and that river is easy to cross, even on foot. When I was covering Phillipsburg as a newspaper reporter, I learned that Phillipsburg residents often referred to Easton as “going to town.” Both regions, in Pennsylvania and New Jersey, have strong agricultural roots so state lines meant little when compared to where the department stores, services, and professionals were.

Even though I do not live in Easton, and have not for the last 20 years, I have lived a mere two miles away from downtown Easton and can still physically walk there it’s so close. The street where I live, and those parallel, all go straight downtown.

I went downtown yesterday for an appointment at the Sigal Museum. Now, as a historian and a proud local history nerd, this alone was a great way to start the day. When I arrived, they had just opened so they weren’t quite ready for me yet. Being gracious hosts, they told me to go play in the museum. I mean visit. Visit the museum.

Arts Community of Easton Small Works show

Before I could reach the exhibits, I had the chance to explore the Arts Community of Easton Small Works Show — which features works by Parisian Phoenix contributors Joan Zachary and Maryann Riker (even if her piece didn’t have her name on it. I recognized it!), (speaking of Phillipsburg) a long-time peer and lover of Barenaked Ladies Claire Jewett who used to own a business in downtown Phillipsburg, and my neighbors, literally the other side of my house, James Cox and Sarah George.

I will be doing two workshops for ACE, at the Easton Area Public Library main branch in July. I believe it’s July 8 I will present a memoir class, and on July 30 we will be working on writing clear nonfiction.

So that was fun… And then it was time to immerse myself in local history.

They have a wonderful exhibit about the origins of the two rivers area and the Native American tribes there. And a wigwam/wikewam! I explored the first floor for a while but I had to carefully extract myself before I wouldn’t be coming out again until they closed.

After my adventure at the museum, I meandered to “the circle” to visit Andy at Book & Puppet Company, our local independent bookstore. We had a fantastic conversation and I found the most unusual purchase– a graphic novel rendition of Albert Camus’ autobiographical novel, The First Man. I learned that Andy had produced not only a new CD but also an audio book memoir by Melba Tolliver. Melba had a very interesting career as a television journalist.

And then there was only one acceptable way to end my morning out, with pie from Pie + Tart. I brought the pie home and shared it with the Teenager. I spent the afternoon working on a ghostwriting project and took a break to drive The Teenager to renew her drivers license. In the evening, I returned downtown to have a belated birthday celebration with a friend, poet and former work colleague. We had drinks, guac and other goodies at Mesa Modern Mexican.

The little weird lucky things

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Yesterday ended up being a strange day. Strange in happy ways, I guess, and I’m afraid I don’t have any photos to accompany this post. But you will see some familiar characters.

I went to visit Nan in the morning. She’s been having some technology failures and is trying to rescue her remaining files from her Braille N Speak. Her current model is dying. So we did some dictation to save some items.

Then, I stopped at CVS. I thought I had $5, $3 and $2 in Extra Bucks with one of them expiring that day, but my phone only showed $3, $2 and $0.04. I went back to the pharmacy window and to pick up my allergy medicine. This spring has been awful for me.

The tech who served me, I had never seen her before, and she saw my $35 tab and suggested I try GoodRX. She found it for $17.24 (which happened to be my house number growing up, see previous post. I like numbers). So she saved me twenty bucks!

I meandered through the store looking for snacks, as my cupboard is bare. I noticed notebooks on clearance for 90 percent off. I texted The Teenager to ask if she could use them or if I brought them home would she just hoard them… She said she would hoard them until the start of next semester.

I got her return text as I was standing near the Nature Valley Granola bars. CVS had a couple varieties on sale for $1.99 a box. I grabbed two boxes of peanut butter biscuits. That and some notebooks (five) at 45 cents each came out to $1.17 after my $3, $2, and $0.04. But at the register, I noticed my $5 off coupon that I couldn’t see on my phone. So I paid, and went back into the store and found my favorite KIND breakfast bars for $2 off. After my $5, that came out to $0.99.

In the afternoon, I visited my neurosurgeon to follow up on my aneurysm. And read the results of my MRA in early May. I got a parking spot right outside the door! At the hospital complex! THAT never happens!

I arrived early, hoping to read more of my nonfiction marketing book that is getting on my nerves. They took me back early. And the doctor showed up early! I was out of the office start to finish in less than 30 minutes, which was only 15 minutes past my original appointment time. And good news– what looked like an aneurysm behind my left eye according to the CT scan did not show up on the MRA.

Then I met Southern Candy at a local park and in the evening, The Teenager, the neighbor and I took Little Dog for ice cream after a dental and having some teeth pulled.

Numbers make me happy

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My daughter and I come from very different generations. This first paragraph is absolutely, 100% my perception and my opinion; and I am categorizing or generalizing in a way that I have not researched as fact– not with my academic hat nor my journalism skills. Her generation (let’s call it born around 2000) loves labels. Even when that generation rejects labels, they put new labels on concepts they rebel against.

It took me until I reached my fourth decade to consider, accept and adopt the identity of someone with a disability. The Teenager, on the other hand, studies identities, labels and the DSM as a part of understanding who she is and how she interacts with the world. She ponders whether or not I have OCD, if her father has ADD, but she also has her own ADHD mind, and her hearing loss, which is a powerful combination.

I call her my tornado, but in reality she might be more of a thunderstorm– the crashing and banging, the relentless burst of energy, thrashing winds and then a deluge.

As people we all show symptoms or signs of all sorts of conditions that may or may not be part of a label, that may or may not be something we “have.” And one of the nuances of who I am is that numbers make me happy.

I think the phenomenon has become more noticeable since I starting spending more time with my traveling partner, M., because as someone with Asperger’s, numbers play a huge role in organizing his life. And we talk about numbers when we notice them, because it’s nice to have someone who also likes the comfort of numbers.

I was relieved when I got my current car, because the license plate featured a number I could live with. Speaking of cars, I have been in a special kind of mourning every since that car, my Jetta, turned over to 70,000. (Since I lost my job at Stitch Fix, my daughter has been driving it. She’s put about 12,000 miles on it in eight months.) But The Teenager also sent me a photo when her father’s car turned over to 11,111 miles.

I will transfer money between savings and checking to create more favorable bank balances, ones that are pleasing to see.

And I dread the day I need to close my primary bank account, because the account number features a sequence I particularly like.

I’m old enough to remember when telephone numbers were seven digits, not ten. And the strange sensation of having to add the area code for local numbers and not just long distance. The generation before me can probably remember when phone numbers did not include the local exchange.

And if you are unfamiliar with some of these terms…

These terms and systems originated and grew with the “landline” telephone technology. The numbers directed users to specific systems of wires and before automatic switching, a telephone switchboard operator had to direct callers to specific wires by unplugging them and plugging them back in.

An American phone number is customarily organized like this:

1-XXX-YYY-ZZZZ

The “1” is the country code.

The XXX is the area code which refers to a larger geographic region, like a few counties in a state, depending on population.

The YYY is the local exchange, usually a town.

And then the ZZZZ were specific residents. Like your house number, but for your telephone.

The Unexpected Post Birthday Bliss

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Gayle and I have been friends a long time. So last week, she asked, as friends often do, “What are you doing on your actual birthday?”

My birthday was on Monday and nobody celebrates on Mondays. She offered to take me out, if I wanted to go somewhere and have fun. I texted back, “What is this fun you speak of?”

Enormous TV with the best resolution I have ever seen

I asked her the budget, and she said $50. I thought “arcade.” I have been trying to make it to various small arcades in the region, but as small businesses, they often don’t have hours conducive to my plans. So I looked up Dave & Buster’s, knowing we have one by the Lehigh Valley Mall.

Gayle said, “You want to go to a sports bar?”

And I said, “No…. They have an arcade.”

But further investigation revealed that the have half-price games on Wednesday, so I asked if we could postpone until then to take advantage. Gayle said sure.

She tossed lunch into the deal, so I ordered the Hawaiian chicken sandwich with pineapple, slaw, and sriracha. Gayle ordered a house salad and we agreed to share all the vegetables. I say all the vegetables because I replaced my fries with asparagus, and we got sides of Brussel sprouts and roasted cauliflower.

Surprisingly, the Brussel sprouts were a disappointment. They tasted too crunchy, as if they were fresh and raw. The seasoning was decent, but they didn’t have the decadent, drowning in roasted flavor that parmesan-crusted Brussel sprouts normally have when prepared in a restaurant. The cauflower was great— but the dipping sauces for both were heavily mayonnaise-based. And the asparagus turned out to be thin and perfectly dripping with goodness. As was the sandwich, which surprised me with how thick and hearty the patty was and how sweet and abundant the glaze was. A very messy sandwich, but worth it. 

With the server’s assistance, we purchased a Dave & Buster’s Power Card with something like 200 (or was it 250?) chips on it. At about 2:30, we headed into the arcade and started our exploration. My first game was a mechanical, full-size version of Hungry Hungry Hippos. I will tell you at our Lehigh Valley Dave & Busters, the blue and the green hippos have a disadvantage, the ball popper holes do not function properly. To digest a respectable amount of balls, one must take advantage of the yellow or orange hippo.

I taught Gayle to play Air Hockey, and Centipede, and then I challenged her to Mario Kart (on Easy) and then we did Hot Wheels. And Rampage! We tried axe throwing and tried our skill shooting hoops. We even did some electronic bowling. And we tried the kids’ games— Cut the Rope and Doodle Jump. 

I looked at my watch and it was 4 o’clock and even though we still had forty chips left (and at half-price most games costs 3.4-5 chips per player), Gayle let me have the power card and now I’m plotting a visit with the Teenager. 

At that point, I picked up the Teenager and we headed to Joan the Photographer’s house. Joan wanted to take me to Point Phillips Hotel for dinner, where they have an on-site smokehouse and some of the weirdness seasonal cocktails I have ever seen.

That region has very Pennsylvania Dutch roots— and my grandfather- and grandmother-in-law are buried in that area. At the restaurant, the waitresses’ shirts said, “if you ain’t PA Dutch, you ain’t much” which led to Joan’s partner claiming to be the most PA Dutch person in the room.

To which I made a challenge. The Teenager is 3/4 Pennsylvania Dutch on her father’s side. Darrell’s mother’s side is Pennsylvania Dutch (his grandfather didn’t learn English until he started school at age five back in the one-room schoolhouse days) and his father’s side is 1/2 PA Dutch and 1/2 Welsh.

The food (and cocktails) were delcious and then we spent some time at Joan’s house, where he partner learned, apparently for the first time, that the Teenager is/was a musician. Discussion ensured of her experiences playing low brass and the differences between a euphonium and a baritone. Some old marching band videos were shared, and one thing led to another and suddenly the two of them had a trombone. 

Amidst a near-full moon, the Teenager picked up a musical instrument for the first time in three years and even though she had never played trombone, she attempted to find some notes.

It brought back a lot of memories for both of us.

How this nerd had the most spectacular birthday

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My 49th birthday was Monday, May 20, 2024.

And my illustrator Joseph Swarctz of the Echo City Capers series drew me this “sexy Angel” for the conference coming in the fall. I think she’s fantastic. He asked me, over lattes at Panera because we were being fancy at our business meeting because it was my birthday, if I felt any different.

I had mentioned that as I get older, I suddenly realized how old everything else around me has gotten. Like the used car I bought in 2019, it’s almost ten years old now. And don’t even get me started on The Teenager– she’s going to not be a teenager anymore next month.

The mood (and the drama?)

I expected my birthday to be a catch-up-on-work day. I had hoped my birthday would be such. And I hoped that would distract me from the fact that since my father passed away, my family no longer talks to me. My mother sent me a passive-aggressive birthday card last week and my stepmother, who shares my birthday, made it clear that she does not want me in her life, first by ghosting me for more than a year and then by calling me up in February and listing everything I’ve done that she disapproved of during our 30-year-relationship.

Both my mother and my stepmother have experienced a lot of loss in the last few years, so I’m going to remember that. This isn’t the place to talk about family history, trauma, and the list of all the terrible things that can or did happen to people. We all live, we all love the best we can, and we all make mistakes. I think that’s part of why my dad meant so much to me– he understood that.

My dad

My dad was an extremely imperfect person, and now that I reflect upon it, he would make the most amazing fiction character. He was only five-feet tall and wore black motorcycle boots, jeans and Harley-Davidson t-shirts. He had tattoos, some of which honored the important people in his life. He was an alcoholic, and when I was a kid, he drank a lot. And sometimes that led to violence between him and my mother. Violence that I witnessed.

He also could fix anything. He had this sharp, strategic mind that could solve puzzles. He liked the Pittsburgh Steelers and would play Uno with me as he laid on the couch and watched Sunday night football. Which, as a parent now, I see is the easiest way possible to spend time with a child and still do what you want to do. For a while, I even collected football cards to share something, other than Uno, with my dad.

My dad would always have friends around with motorcycles or cars that needed fixing. They would arrange trades or bring gifts, which might have been because he wouldn’t take money.

I could tell stories forever about my dad, but the point is, that it always seemed like he gave people the benefit of the doubt, even when it was clear they were a mess, and I think that’s because he understood that we all have imperfections and some of his, he couldn’t fix. He could changed his behavior in a lot of ways, but sometimes those imperfections still hold us back.

So, it’s my birthday. And the only relatives who contact me do so on Facebook– and I have one cousin who posts this fabulous picture of us kids by my grandmother’s pool. I am between my cousins in the middle of the back row.

But for someone who did not expect or intend much birthday celebrating, it was a chaotic one and I have a feeling it might all extend into next week.

The PreGame

On Saturday, I presented a workshop to the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group. So, some of last week I “lost” in preparation for this event, which went fabulously, though I spoke too fast and squeezed what should have been two presentations into one. I thought I could use Sunday to recoup some lost client time.

How wrong I was.

I started with a Substack newsletter for Parisian Phoenix Publishing. You can read that here. I caught up on some email and watched a replay of a webinar I missed when I went up to the Times-News on Thursday. Then, it was time to go to Barnes & Noble in the Southmont Shopping Center where Joe was selling a LOT of books. It was one of our best days there ever for Echo City Capers.

And when I got home, I thought, now I can focus on some ghostwriting for my mafia novel client.

And then the Teenager approached. “Hey, Mom. I’m going down to groom [my friend and fellow author Tiffani Burnett-Velez’s] dog. You’re coming, right?”

Well, five-plus hours later I came home with a full belly and a copy of Tiff’s first novel because we traded– her first, for my fourth. And a cookie.

The family even sacrificed a cherry pie they had purchased for themselves to celebrate my birthday. And Tiff and I talked about neurologists longer than we probably should have. Because mine is the best one ever.

And during the drive home, the Teenager mentions that she has time on my actual birthday if I want to have a little adventure in the afternoon. So, I send her a list of ideas.

My birthday

The Teenager was definitely confused and perhaps disappointed by my final choice of Palmerton, Pa., for our outing. But I have a strange soft spot in my heart for that town and after my trip to Lehighton earlier in the week it felt like an easy choice.

Our first stop was the Country Harvest grocery store because according to Google maps they had doughnuts and a coffee bar inside. And unexpectedly, or perhaps very expectedly, The Teenager and I found lots of fun items in there. Including the iced teas we both had in school, and varieties of cat food that The Teenager’s finicky cat might eat. And for some reason The Teenager wanted puffed rice, and we picked desserts from the cooler and I bought a copy of the Times-News.

Then we walked down the main drag to go have a quick slice of pizza. Imagine our surprise when we discovered an amazing taco pizza, which we chased with a walk past the park and a visit to the public library so I could use the bathroom and enjoy the beautiful architecture.

The Teenager mentioned that she recognized the town and she felt like it was a place she had visited with my father on the motorcycle. That made sense, I told her, because my dad loved to take the motorcycle along the Lehigh River and through the picturesque hills and valleys of the region. So to celebrate him, we spent some time with the crane machine, another of my dad’s favorite activities.

I think what made the day special was that all we did was walk, talk and enjoy the scenery. Toss in some desserts and a good slice of pizza and what more could I ask… well, and it turns out we also had the presence of my dad.

The Face ID meltdown

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In middle school, I was part of the generation of kids who had introductory computer programming classes mandatory in the curriculum. Everyone had to sit at the IBM computer and learn DOS commands. It was 1989, and we had no idea why we would ever need to do this. Our parents were farmers, mechanics, plumbers and other blue collar workers.

At the same time, we saw our first local farms sold and turned into developments. One summer, school let out and in September, at one farm on my bus route, suddenly 8 kids stood at the end of a road by a field that now had houses all over it. But the real shock was when some of these kids had dads that worked in offices and wore suits and carried briefcases.

My dad went back and forth between an OTR truck driver and a diesel mechanic. Periodically he would buy a truck (twice he bought the same 1965 Kenworth) and when he had driven our family into debt with the cost of massive tires and gasoline, my mom would force him back to work as a diesel mechanic at a local paving company.

In high school, we got ONE computer in the back of the classroom to print the stories for the high school newspaper and literary magazine. Previously, we sent our copy down to the business classes so those students could type it in columns. Whether the business students typed it or we did it on the computer, we cut it out and glued it on blue grids with rubber cement.

By college, we all had email addresses and computer labs and web sites on Geocities.

My college roommate had an IBM computer that ran Windows 95. And after my freshman year, I saved ALL my money, drove two hours and bought a floor display model of a Powerbook 165, which if you do not know, was the first real consumer laptop.

I’ve been a die-hard, fight-to-the-death Mac girl ever since. And if you want to have the Mac vs PC fight, save your breath and remember, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates both stole their ideas from Xerox.

My point is, I am not a Luddite.

But I have reached the age– and tomorrow is my birthday– where technology issues can unhinge me. I ate half a bag of flaming hot Cheetos last night because the FaceID on my iPhone 13 suddenly stopped working.

I tried being patient. I tried restarting it. At the behest of The Teenager (who only has one more month of being a teenager) I tried to reset it. That failed. And suddenly I was being asked for the password to my bank account. I was faced (pun intended) with having to TYPE passwords and I, for a moment, wondered if fingerprint ID would work… and then I remembered fingerprint ID went out with FaceID.

I tried again. I could not reset FaceID.

Well, I thought, the sensors that read my face must have died. And then suddenly it worked.

I reset my FaceID. Without the help of a teenager.

It still only works about 50% of the time. But, somehow, I will persevere.

Looking for my tribe

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So I had two professional meetings today— both regarding professional opportunities. One was a second interview for a niche professional journal, a publisher and sales position.

The other led me to Lehighton, to the Times-News building where I met with some staff members about the possibility of doing some copy editing work for them.

Regardless of how either of these opportunities work out, I had a great day talking to committee people in print media, an industry that has a lot of issues to overcome every day.

But talking to these professionals at these polar opposites of publications, that reminded me of my own passions and what it’s like to connect with others who share that.

Plus…

I love Palmerton, the coal regions and rural post-industrial Pennsylvania.

Life lessons according to Grey’s Anatomy

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Periodically, I select a random television series and watch the whole thing, as much as I can get my hands on. Some of the shows come as recommendations from friends or family. Some are pop culture references that I feel the need to know.

With the variety of streaming services, I watch these shows when dining alone or when doing the dishes or folding wash. And I think I like seeing the various storytelling styles and the various characters built over the arcs of these long-running shows.

But no matter what– I just don’t like Meredith Grey as a person.

So with no further ado.

10 Life Lessons from Grey’s Anatomy

1. The people you love will die in car accidents at a young age. Or have catastrophic accidents and have miraculous recoveries. There are a lot of car accidents in the show, and some of them are downright crazy. Some people shouldn’t survive, and some should. Or some people get hit by a bus and die, others fly out a windshield and manage to bounce back from the most dramatic surgeries ever and don’t even have a scar. Drowning is also an issue.

2. Marriage is temporary. Just go with it. People get married quickly and divorce just as quickly. The average marriage on Grey’s lasts six months. And if it does last, people die in car accidents. People marry for love, for lust, for medical benefits.

3. 1 in 4 surgeons get brain tumors. At least. At least THREE of the main characters have specifically brain tumors and then in an unusual moment, one surgeon gets a spinal tumor in season 15. And brain. surgery, even with inoperable or cancerous tumors, is really easy to come back from in the Grey’s universerse.

4. Even if you spent a decade in school and have a lucrative career, feel free to start over in a new path on a whim. Doctors change specialties, or turn down impressive fellowships, or leave the country on a moments notice. And sometimes they become firemen.

5. You can easily change your name, leave the state and go to med school without anyone questioning it. OR if you run into immigration issues, the hospital can ship you off to Switzerland overnight so you don’t get deported.

6. Real friends cover up each other’s crimes and improprieties. I sometimes think this show should be named after the MORALLY GREY aspects of their lives. It doesn’t matter if you sabotage a clinical trial or beat the life out of someone, you can still be a doctor.

7. Most women doctors are lesbians or bisexual. A strange number of the female leads sleep with each other, but it takes until season 15 to have male characters in a gay relationship.

8. Doctors have no child care issues ever, even as a single parent with three kids. These doctors have the most convenient 24-hour day care that allows them to drop off their kids even if they are not scheduled to work.

9. Planes and helicopters crash A LOT. Not only do several characters die in a plane crash– but another character jokes about his plane crash. And those helicopters have a lot of mishaps.

10. Doctors have sex all over the hospital.

Journaling as a reset

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A good portion of what I am going to write today will probably reappear in a smoother format over on the Parisian Phoenix Publishing page. (ParisianPhoenix.com) My brain is swirling. My frustration tolerance is low. Anxiety is taking advantage of point one and point two to paralyze my concentration.

These are growing pains. These are the realities that accompany change and even more so, success.

Cocktail contemplations

Last night, I really would have loved a cold beer to sit and sip while I pondered the events of the last few days– but my frugal self would not justify spending money on something so frivolous nor did I want to put on shoes. So I opted to make a cocktail of whatever we had in the house. We had grenadine (the kind with alcohol), creme de menthe and creme de cacoa, because a few weeks ago I had a craving for a grasshopper. That was short-lived. Since then, my occasional cocktail has been a creme de cacao and Coke Zero, because who doesn’t appreciate a chocolate Coke?

Last night I opted to skip the mixer and head toward “Dirty Girl Scout” territory, but I didn’t measure so my pour led to slightly chocolatey mint drink.

Why did I desire a cocktail last night? Because…

Sex Down South Atlanta

I was sitting in my reading chair, hoping to capitalize on the cool evening breeze and spend some time with my cats and my naughty Goffin’s cockatoo. I need to proofread McKenna Graf’s upcoming poetry book, review Larry Sceurman’s new middle-grade dragon story, and somehow manage to not only score some time for my ghostwriting client, but also prepare for the upcoming comic con in Phillipsburg and finish my workshop for Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group.

Let’s be honest. Comic con is a Friday problem, and this was Wednesday. GLVWG is a Sunday problem, and again this is Wednesday. But the other stuff was/is yesterday/today problems.

I receive an email from the organizers of Sex Down South Atlanta. It talked about the 200+ presenters that proposed workshops and they were sorry they could not accept them all. They told us all we could have a discount code to come to the conference and shared the list of accepted workshops.

Now, a friend of mine had proposed a workshop and I was her accountability partner for getting the proposal in. At the last minute she told me to enter a proposal and I laughed– because what do I have to offer at a big sex conference? She said they had a category for writing and erotica.

So, I entered a proposal.

I opened the file attached to the email last night to see if my friend’s workshop was selected. I did not see it. I scroll through the list and reach #31 and see: Explore Your Fantasies and Write Your Own Erotica, and I think, that sounds like a nice offering. As I finish the sentence, my jaw drops to the floor. It reads: Explore Your Fantasies and Write Your Own Erotica with Angel.

My workshop description

Which means the acceptances and the rejections went out in the same email. My proposal was accepted.

I went through my files looking for the proposal and sighed with relief that 1. I have it and 2. It’s reasonable. I spent the rest of the evening talking with friends. Because I’m shocked. And excited. And wondering how the heck I am going to pull off traveling to Atlanta. But that’s a future problem.

So that’s why I needed a cocktail and why my brain is even more overextended and fried than usual.