Resources and their impact on disability memoir

I don’t know about you, but as I grow older, routines become more and more important to me– because otherwise I simply don’t squeeze all the tasks and items into my day that I think I should. That’s how things I enjoy, like updating this blog, get neglected.

For instance, I never wrote an entry about my single-shot marathon drive from Atlanta home.

But I was working with Nancy yesterday (and she managed to submit something like four poems and an essay while I was with her) and she nudged me in that subtle way. I mentioned that I had gone to the cardiologist the day prior, and that led to a discussion of the fact that most of my current writing time has been dedicated to my medical advocacy/ disability memoir.

“Good,” Nancy said. “I think that’s an important one. Because unlike so many people that write disability books, you’re a normal person.”

I had to pause for a moment and I almost laughed.

“Because so many books by disabled authors come from people with resources?”

While that statement is not 100% true– I know several disabled authors who use the Amazon platform to promote and distribute their fiction– it says something about disability-themed literature and memoir of past generations (I am Generation X and Nan is a Boomer.)

Spending some time in the Barnes & Noble database

For fun, I just searched DISABILITY on the Barnes & Noble website. The search yielded only academic titles. I searched DISABILITY FICTION and got only 22 results, mostly academic books, and one book only available in ebook, published by Draft2Digital, and clicking on the author’s link led me to believe he is an independent author who has published at least twelve titles only in ebook format. The author is also a horror filmmaker, nearing 60-years-old and appears to be white and able-bodied.

When I search DISABILITY MEMOIR, I find twenty results– many of them self-published, several by Boomers (on topics like polio, at least three of those, hey GenZ have you heard of polio? Another on surviving Tuberculosis and living in sanitariums), many on parenting, and many on learning disabilities.

MEDICAL MEMOIRS yielded more results (50 instead of 20) and the boldest words that popped from thumbnails were cancer and survival and the occasional miracle. When I entered my own condition, CEREBRAL PALSY, the search returned more than 130 results– most either children’s picture books or academic books.

Now, I know some of you are thinking, “Why is she looking at Barnes & Noble– everyone knows there are more books on Amazon.”

Barnes & Noble, as the remaining giant big-box book retailer, offers a standard on what can be considered mainstream and the minimum threshold of “wide” versus Amazon-only distribution. And Barnes & Noble has started doing some more gatekeeping as to what self-published or print-on-demand titles can appear on their web site.

Resource #1: Time

Anyone who publishes– even if self-publishing– has a certain amount of financial or support-system resources at their disposal. It might be as simple as the self-published author who solely uses Amazon has a live-in caretaker, which could be a family member or a paid staff person, which allows them the extra time to sit at their computer and write. As a person with a disability, whether that be a mobility issue, a congenital limb difference or vision and other sensory impairment or something else, it takes a lot longer to do basic tasks alone. Ever try to button a shirt alone with a broken arm? It takes longer to bathe, to cook, to eat, to use the toilet. The whole day just takes longer and takes more energy.

And that’s without considering what it takes to monitor and take medications, how often one needs to attend physical therapy appointments or doctor visits, and potential nuisances like arranging accessible transportation, buying supplies like incontinence supplies or feeding tubes, and monitoring one’s health.

Resource #2: Knowledge/connections

There is a profoundly different experience for disabled people based on socio-economic status. There is also a gap between experiences for those people who qualify for public services, those who have private resources and those who fall in the middle.

During the pandemic, I qualified for Medicaid for the first time in my life pretty much because I lost my job at the height of Covid and did not receive any unemployment because only workers displaced by Covid made it into the system. I did eventually receive unemployment, but it literally hit my bank account two days after I started my job at Stitch Fix. Because I had zero income, I qualified for food stamps and Medicaid. My Medicaid kicked in November 1, 2020 and my job at Stitch Fix started one week later and they provided health insurance on day one.

I submitted all my paperwork. My food stamps ended, but Medicaid did not, because of the pandemic. Despite me periodically sending updates reinforcing that I had private insurance, my Medicaid remained. Do you know when they canceled it? When Stitch Fix laid me off. I submitted my application to renew my Medicaid and they denied me because their system hadn’t uploaded my daughter’s prove of being a college student and I didn’t notice. The system didn’t send me a notice that said, “Hey, this item is missing.” Just denied the whole application. So, I have spent the last year as a disabled entrepreneur with a high deductible medical plan which means I recently paid $2,000 out of pocket for an MRI. It also means I am not seeing my specialists as often as I should.

Meanwhile, I know someone who recently not only qualified for Medicaid but also receives government disability payments, also an entrepreneur, who probably makes more money than I do. I have an Office of Vocational Rehab Counselor who has listed me in her highest category of disability, but in the last six months, I have received nothing actionable as support.

Access to social workers, whether professionally in a hospital or even through friends or non-profits can help make sense of what is possible, but without guidance it’s really hard. Another barrier is technology. That one might make a reader bristle, but not all technology makes life easier. Sometimes technology requires practical or financial resources to be useful. Nancy, as a blind person, has struggled with internet access. She has never owned a computer, and she has tried various ways to use the world wide web. Her Fire tablet worked well until the charger failed way too quickly. She has a Blindshell cell phone she uses on wi-fi to check her gmail account, and an Alexa device to handle music, time and reminders.

But recently, NASA discontinued its TV station, guiding viewers to use the NASA Plus app instead. Alexa does not have a skill for NASA Plus. Her Blindshell can’t open links from NASA Plus. And she can occasionally stumble upon a usable link for NASA’s videos on YouTube, but not reliably. She’s now considering a Fire Stick, but she’s considered she won’t be able to easily scroll the thumbnails to find the launches that interest her.

I mention this because the resource of knowledge and connections, many of which we consider technology-dependent, will change the disability experience. The people who will produce memoirs will have more access to knowledge and technology. Even in able-bodied households, not everyone has access to these items.

Resource #3: Money

A lot of the memoirs I have read come from households with financial resources. It could be as simple as having a stay-at-home mom who could be a caretaker. It could be as complex as a disabled person having access to expensive custom schools or having enough savings to take time off work for long treatments or training opportunities. These advantages lead to better education, better adaptability in the world and also empower the person who had these opportunities stories they can share with the world.

Not to mention many disabled authors work with specialty editors or vanity publishers to create their work and that requires cold, hard cash.

Resource #4: Support

Similar to the time resource, support covers the system that helps a person on a day-to-day or as-needed basis. The support of family, friends and caretakers contributes to a person’s time, their skill and their self-worth to lead them to write a book. That could also include a teacher or mentor. Some disabled people might need a typist, or an outside researcher, to help them with their tasks.

For disabled people who use most of their time and energy on survival items, writing a book might not be a possibility. This also covers the emotional support– I would guess that most disabled published authors are people who have been told they have a message worth sharing.

Resource #5: Past Experience

Finally, I consider past experience a resource. This may pertain more to medical memoirs versus disability memoirs, but that is my gut feeling and not fact. Most people want to read “hopeful” stories with happy endings. And therefore I wonder if memoirs that feature “miracles” or “cures” might be more appealing and accepted than chronic illness/lifelong disability books.

If an able-bodied person experiences an illness or an accident and writes a book, he or she will write with their previous experience in mine. The journey present in the story will be “before,” “accident/diagnosis,” “after,” and “end,” whether than end is death, healing, or acceptance. Stories with this framework will inadvertently compare the disability or medical part of the story to the unhindered before time, and the goal will always be to regain what was lost.

For most disabled people, the reality is learning to live with the condition and doing what is needed to prevent a decline in quality of life.

Regardless of what resources or goals a writer has when dealing with their own disability or medical situation, it’s important to remember when we read memoir that everyone’s lives have different challenges and their are many ways to deal with any situation.

The final leg of bookstores and driving

If you’ve been following my journey, you know that yesterday morning I left Greenville, SC, for Atlanta. It was about a three hour drive, technically less, but I stopped at bookstores and other places to entertain myself along the way.

As a small business owner, I am doing everything I can to make this trip inexpensive and fun.

I have a massive crate of snacks (which M said was very me) that are my emergency food rations and I’ve been gathering more items along the way– the “breakfast” at my previous hotel was grab-and-go so I now have two muffins. I stopped at a rest stop in Anderson County, South Carolina (my mother’s maiden name, plus near Clemson where my stepmom attended school) and saw that vending machine benefited the South Carolina some-organization-for-the-blind. I bought two snacks, because I saw something one doesn’t normally see in vending machine: snacks with protein! Individual packs of tuna salad and chicken salad. My collection now has one of each. And at the conference, I snagged a bag of raisinets. Fruit, right?

Of my snacks, I have eaten two KIND breakfast bars and a bag of harvest cheddar snap peas. I had forgotten how delicious those are.

My breakfast stop yesterday was Panera. They offered me a $1 bagel again. I considered Waffle House for my “main meal” stop of the day, but the timing didn’t work out because I stopped at a TA “travel center” to pee and grabbed a banana while selecting a magnet for Eva.

I have been buying Eva magnets from different places because they are usually cheap, easy to transport and they are easy to store at home. Magnets don’t take up space. They sit on the fridge or on a filing cabinet. I texted her from the truck stop to ask, “Are you to old for a magnet?” and I got the response, “never.”

Three Bookstores of the Day

  • Walls Of Books: A chain of used bookstores, I visited the one in Commerce, Ga. Bought three old paperbacks. Really wanted a book on found on Hebrew and English and the Old Testament but it was almost $20 and I can’t read Hebrew.
  • The Book Nook: A strange used everything store in Lilburn, Ga. This was the only place I didn’t talk to anyone because the people and the customers were all really old. And it was the only place I walked into where nobody talked to me. They had everything from records to comics to books and DVDs. And a cat-themed ladies room.
  • Phoenix & Dragon: A spiritual bookstore on the outskirts of Atlanta. I had to go and find a witchy present for Eva. And the name! They had three cats who live in the store. Best collection of tarot cards I gave ever seen in one place.

Upon reaching Greenville South Carolina

Yesterday I drove from Washington DC to Greenville, South Carolina. 500+ miles.

I left at 7:15 a.m. and had a lovely morning commute through Rock Creek Park and down to the Potomac. I was fascinated by the highways that had central blocks of three lanes that they flipped one direction for the other at peak volume times.

I saw a new Krispy Kreme doughnut store beside a vintage one, complete with all the 1950s style neon. And of course, the old one was being prepped for demolition.

In North Carolina, at the rest areas, they arrange the flowers into N & C shapes in the garden which from a distance in the car looks like a floral “NO.” And they also gave out lots of maps! And the attendants talked a while… I lost 15 minutes of driving time.

South of Charlotte around 4:30 p.m., I hit my first slowing of the day, but beside me in the traffic was a vivid blue McLaren which you don’t see every day.

I ate cheesy grits and a Spam crunch biscuit at Biscuitville.

I visited two independent book stores: Persnickety Books and Hub City Bookshop & Press.

For more info on that, see my newsletter. Read my official newsletter here (and subscribe while you are at it!)

I used HotelTonight to book a room at 6 p.m. I considered staying in Spartanburg but that would have cost me $100+. I came to the ExtendedStay America right off 85 and I’m glad I did because it was only $70. I slept great and there’s a Panera outside! (If you look at the photo– it’s kinda between the two main trees.) There’s a pizza place, a liquor store and TWO grocery stores (one of which is a Walmart).

The magic in downtown Easton

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.

Journaling as a reset

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.

First Day of GLVWG Write Stuff

So today was the first day of the 2024 Write Stuff Conference with Amy Deardon on marketing and Melissa Koberlein on podcasting. The morning presentation provided an overview marketing checklist. The afternoon workshop allowed participants to workshop some ideas for podcasting to provide a realistic overview of what it takes to put a podcast together.

The conference will continue through April 13th, with a small workshop setting with keynote Jonathan Maberry tomorrow and a series of sessions on Saturday with Maberry, Deardon, Koberlein and YA author Jordan Sonnenblick and appointments with editor Donna Tollarico of Hippocampus magazine, agent Mark Gottlieb and agent Marie Lamba. As I maneuvered cookies from the dining salon to our meeting room 1,000 steps away on the other side of the hotel, I ran into Jonathan as he was checking into the hotel.

I saw the leftover cookies on the buffet table and felt it was my duty to transport some to the workshop room to combat the afternoon slump.

It’s always interesting to see the energy in the room and what people are looking for from an event such as a writers conference.

Personally, I’ve been devouring books by Sonnenblick and Maberry– finishing Curveball last night and INK earlier this week.

Just get it out there

Since I lost my job at Stitch Fix in September, I’ve been working hard to build my business, Parisian Phoenix Publishing. And it’s not easy. I have a lot of long days and many things– like reading and creative writing– that used to be hobbies are not work.

I’m constantly balancing what to do with my time. Should I work on personal projects? Paying clients? Unpaying clients? Authors? How much time do I spend at Barnes & Noble versus Book & Puppet (my local independent bookstore)? How many titles should the publishing company release this year? How much freelance journalism should I pursue? How many events should I attend? How many self-published and/or local authors can I support by buying and reviewing their books, especially when only about 20% return the favor?

But one choice that was easy to make was attending last week’s Podcasting 101 community education class at Northampton Community College at their Fowler Center in Southside Bethlehem. My friend and trusty photographer Joan suggested it, with her musical background, my past obsession with podcasts and my hope to start recording miniaudio books.

We invited our partner-in-crime Gayle to join us beforehand at El Jefe for tacos, though we all got burrito bowls.

Podcasting 101

Our class was led by Demetrius Mullen, host of The Single Parent Conflict, and covered a basic overview of all of the elements of creating and uploading a podcast. He’s also a bit of a voice-over actor so imagine my surprise when I heard his “professional voice” versus his everyday one. I now understand what my daughter always meant when she said, “You’re using your journalist voice.”

I love exploring new topics and ideas in classes like this one. They are usually inexpensive and offer a safe environment to dip proverbial toes in the water. I’ve taken other community education classes– like vegan cooking (have the best cobbler recipe ever from that one) and six weeks of Irish Gaelic (my first foray into impractical languages).

At the most basic level, making a podcast involves six basic steps:

  1. Have the mindset. This means not finding excuses. It doesn’t matter if you record, edit and upload your podcast 100% from your phone if you have to, challenge yourself to do it. Accept that you will learn and grow and perhaps be embarrassed by your initial attempts, but keep in mind that it takes time to build momentum, market and develop a following.
  2. Gather your hardware. To simplify this, this means having somewhere to record and edit the podcast. It could involve computers, XLR cables, and microphones, but it also could be simply you and your phone. Demetrius’ advice was to invest your energy in learning and honing the content of your podcast before spending money on equipment that might not even be necessary or before you know exactly what would suit you best.
  3. Learn your software. If you want to have a decent podcast, you’ll have to learn to edit it. There are a variety of free or inexpensive options on the market. And if you’re an Apple user, you have Garage Band.
  4. Record. Sit down and record your content.
  5. Edit, save and export. Again, there are a variety of podcasting services from Buzzsprout to Spotify for Podcasters (formerly Anchor.fm), some with free and some with paid plans. All you need is an MP3 and an ability to read and follow directions.
  6. Upload. Once you have your MP3, release your creation into the universe.

Perhaps this will renew my interest in creating a show author interview show involving a craft topic, followed by an excerpt, short story or poem from the Parisian Phoenix catalog to demonstrate the principle. My larger goal is to use this as a training ground for audio editing and speaking for audio so that we can start production on Parisian Phoenix audiobooks.

4 months and 1 day

I want to keep this one short. I spent a couple hours on a Substack newsletter for Parisian Phoenix (read that here), handled some business, watched some TV, did some job applications and folded some wash. I’m starting a new project for an important client tomorrow and attending some classes on websites, Google and SEO practices.

Yesterday, I attended the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group meeting, then ran up to Stroudsburg to support William Prystauk’s horror novel release for The Hanging Girl. From there, the teenager and I stopped at Wawa for a snack before heading to The End: A Bookstore to meet up with Ralph and Joe of Echo City Capers fame.

Speaking of fame, Joe made an appearance on Channel 69 Weekend Edition of the Morning News.

But then, upon leaving The End, the Teenager hopped over a tiny pile of stones to avoid going the long way to the parking lot. I followed. And my good/stronger ankle went out on me, causing me to slip in my slightly healed walking boots, and somehow I bounced off Joe’s parked car, narrowly avoided a concrete parker marking with rebar sticking out of it and smashed my right hand, nose, glasses and face into the macadam.

It’s been four months and a day since my last fall.

My gait was perfect. My blood pressure has been trending higher, but remains in the neighborhood of 120/70 vs the former 110/65. My heartrate and EKG are fine. I just fell. Tired from overbooking, stress from losing my job, awkwardness because of the rain, or all of it who knows. Life with cerebral palsy. Heading home with a fat lip and a bloody nose.

I did take a chunk out of my expensive glasses. The metal frame of the bridge cut up my nose. And the hand I f*cked up when I dove down the steps March 1 at Stitch Fix, it’s set back a ways on recovery. It’s torn up again.

But sometimes you have to remind yourself to be grateful.

Speaking of grateful, if you follow my Instagram you may have seen this fabulous hot lunch of Maruchen Teriyaki noodles, peas, Lightlife tempeh and fresh spinach I made for The Teenager and I at a cost of about $2.50 per serving. And 30+ grams of protein.

I am also grateful that Giant has a store brand version of Bush’s Vegetarian Baked Beans as the family size can of Bush’s was on sale for $3.09 and the generic was $1.69. The Teenager says the generic tasted exactly the same. I can’t give it that much of a rave review, but I can report it was a successful substitution. What disappointed me though was the honey beans I bought on clearance at Grocery Outlet.

Final days of medical leave…

The reduced dosage of my beta blocker has put more pep in my step and so far improved my symptoms of feeling quasi-lightheaded. And I can get out of bed without sleeping 10 hours a night!

Yesterday was a magnificent day. The Teenager and I went to her grandmother’s for an impromptu early Easter dinner and pie baking lesson. Grammy’s crust is 1 cup flour, 1/2 cup shortening and 1/4 cup water.

We brought the dog and invited Southern Candy to have dinner with us, since she had texted that she missed me and I had produce scraps for the guinea pigs.

Southern Candy told me she had regrets about accepting the invitation because she doesn’t “know these people” but I assured her it would be no problems, she’d have fun and there would be pie. Prune custard to be exact.

And Southern Candy told me she doesn’t like custard. I told her she should try it, and if she didn’t like it, she could slip it onto my plate.

Southern Candy loved Grammy’s decorating style, her cooking and our free-flowing conversation. And then she was the first person at the table to reply when Grammy asked how the pie turned out.

“I’ll tell you,” Southern Candy said. “I don’t even like custard but this pie is delicious!”

Grammy’s pie does that to people.

Grammy tried to make me memorize the custard recipe: 4 eggs, 1 can sweetened condensed milk, 1 regular can milk, and corn starch. I forgot the exact measurement.

Meanwhile today I deep-cleaned my room. I only got it 75% done, but it gave me a chance to do sustained work before returning to the warehouse Monday. Perhaps in the future I will do a blog entry on family books. I have my travel diary, my great-grandmother’s little brother’s copy of Walden, my great-grandmother’s Aunt Tilly’s scrapbook and family notes, my great-grandmother’s journal from when she was 20, some old prayer books and hymnals, and my grandfather’s scrapbook of his time on the Queen Mary during World War II, which has Bob Hope’s autograph in it.

And I got the results of my Zio patch — but the cardiologist has not reviewed them yet.

Things that frazzle the mind in my forties

**this post may contain strong language… no, this post will contain strong language. I plan to drop an “f-bomb” in the first paragraph. But I promise it will be lighthearted and humorous not vulgar and full of rage.

Sometimes I wonder if the process of losing your mother-fucking mind which seems to descend upon a person once your children enter their teens isn’t the cause of dementia. Will the brain fog that accompanies keeping life together as the offspring prepare to leave the nest clear as they depart? Or is it permanent?

I think when you reach the latter half of the forty-somethings, the time you might have spent on hobbies, movies or parties in your youth is replaced by the tedium of home ownership, career, family, parents and medical care (your own, your family, probably even friends). And maybe you just don’t have the patience you used to.

I am currently waiting for the remediation team. If you skip back to Tuesday’s blog, you’ll recall that my 50- or 60-year-old toilet exploded and damaged my dining room ceiling. The plumber came Tuesday and installed a new toilet, and the teenager gave me shit. Not only does she not like the new toilet (as the plumber warned me) but she also had beef with the plumber for taking her old toilet.

I asked the teenager, “what on earth would you do with an old broken toilet?”

And, of course, the teenager told me. She wanted to take the ancient pink ceramic toilet and use it as a planter in our front yard next to our pink rose bush.

“It would look so cool,” she said.

And it probably would. But I did not go to college and embark on all the adventures I have to place a broken toilet in my front yard.

The scheduler for the insurance adjuster called Wednesday morning, about 29 hours after the incident, and scheduled the adjuster for Wednesday June 1. I asked the teenager if she could handle letting him into the house. She agreed. The scheduler called again and moved it to Tuesday. Teenager agreed again. Scheduler called a third time to ask if we had had a remediation company come to check if we had any or were in danger of collecting any mold. I said no. She said to call one.

So Wednesday on my lunch break (my first day back after a month of medical leave), I emailed ServePro because I didn’t have the time or the quiet to talk on the phone. They called, and after about three difficult phone calls with them, (the person on the other end couldn’t hear me well. I was wearing a mask, using one AirPod and working in a noisy warehouse.) they said they would confirm an appointment for Thursday or Friday by the end of the day.

[note: this is a pause in the blog post as the remediation team arrived.]

The remediation scheduler called about 4:30 p.m. Thursday, which was about 60 hours after I turned the water off to the toilet and started mopping up the damage. My appointment was for 1 p.m. Friday, about 80 hours after the original accident.

But at least I made myself a nice dinner of fig & ricotta ravioli from Lidl with Alfredo sauce from Hungryroot and vegetables (baby broccoli, red pepper, and peas) cooked in the Cuisinart air fryer toaster oven.

Last night, when the teenager got home from her dad’s, I think I was emptying the dishwasher and I went on a psychotic rant about silverware. You see, when her father and I got married, we registered for Oneida’s Easton flatware in the satin finish. I have always loved that silverware. It was $100 a place setting, and that was in 1999. That’s $20 per utensil. But it’s beautiful, and my husband and I both agreed on it without compromise, and it’s heavy, and we lived in an apartment in downtown Easton, Pennsylvania.

Oneida flatware pattern: Easton (Satin)

And sometime between when teenager two lived with us and now, many pieces of that silverware have disappeared. And it’s melodramatic, but the loss is like a gaping wound. No other silverware feels right in my hand. So I snapped, for the umpteenth time, and shouted at the teenager about my missing silverware.

In that moment, I realized that for some reason, that silverware really means something to me. Eating with it brings me joy. And that silverware looks as new as the day we bought it. Our marriage lasted 20 years, and the silverware may last generations.

“I don’t have the money to replace it,” I screamed.

And then I realized…

I launched a publishing company. I buy myself iced coffee about once a week. I spend almost as much on animal food as I do on people food. So, why can’t I figure out how to pay for new silverware? Especially since I know Replacements.com has just about every silverware and china pattern ever made (used) at a discount. I think I found my dream pattern. I ordered a few pieces of my silverware, based on cost and what I actually need.

This morning started with a cup of coffee, some cuddly cats, a trip to the chiropractor and a whole lot of cleaning before the remediation team arrived. I made the teenager and I a breakfast of fresh baguette from Lidl, toasted in the Cuisinart oven, buttered, covered a slice of proscuitto and toasted more, and then drizzled with hot honey and sprinkled with herbs de provence. It was as amazing as it sounds.

The teenager had her last high school final exam, the only one she had to take this year, and returned home to find me aflutter with the broom and a mop. I asked her to do something for me. It might have been to move a multipack of paper towels to another room, when she stopped and opened the sunporch window.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

And I thought to myself, she’s not smelling the roses.

And she replied, “I’m smelling the roses.”

“Seriously?” I said. “I ask you to do something and instead you literally stop to smell the roses!”

She then picked a bouquet for the main room downstairs. Eventually, she moved the paper towels.

Once the house was cleaned and the teenager shuffled off to work, I finished Natasha Sizlo’s memoir, All Signs Point to Paris. I received a copy via NetGalley and reviewed it on Goodreads and mentioned it in my Parisian Phoenix blog post that will go live tomorrow. I tried to start P.N. Dedeaux’s Algiers Tomorrow but it offended me beyond rebuke within the first two chapters.

I understand that the book was published in 1993. I also understand that erotica by its nature breaks rules and can feature taboos. But in the first two chapters, we join two bratty rich sixteen year olds nicknamed “Boobs” and “Butt” through a vacation in France. By the end of the chapters, I want them to get murdered. I was hoping for some cheesy references to Algerians with which I could have some Mystery Science Theater 3000-type fun.

chicken vodka pizza

I ordered a chicken pizza with vodka sauce from Nicolosi’s Pizza in Forks Township. It was a custom pizza and I told them to “put whatever on it to make it pizza-y.” They added fresh basil. It smelled amazing. The teenager was picking it up at 2:45 p.m after work.

And don’t you know it, the remediation team was late… They called at 2:55 p.m. and arrived at 3:05 p.m. I had one bite of my scrumptious, piping hot custom pizza. And it was time to find out if my house was wet.

Unfortunately, it is.

We could lose our bathroom subfloor. Our hardwood floors and walls are damp. We have five industrial air movers in the living area and a massive dehumidifier. And upstairs we have three more air movers in the bathroom and another dehumidifier.

But we’re safe, and sometimes you just have to have faith it will work out.

At the end of the day, Bean Dog got new toys.