Wishing all my family, friends and readers a Happy New Year. May our year be filled with laughter, love, good health and kindness.
I am working on Middle Seat Passenger, the sequel to Morningside Drive. I appreciate the support from family, friends and readers that I have receive when publishing my first novel. Thank you.
Happy New Year. . . just saying, Claudia
Hope you all survived and perhaps had a Happy Thanksgiving. Last year there was three of us at the dinner table in Florida. My husband, aka Bobbie C, watched football and my granddaughter-in-law, Marcela, and I decorated the tree. It was memorable.
This year we flew Albany, New York to visit family. As the snow fell seventeen of us packed into my sister Gert’s home. The snow clung to the trees and became slush as it hit the pavement. It was not a quiet event and brought back memories of being stuck in snow and Thanksgiving at my grandmother’s. There are twenty days to Christmas and twenty-six days left in the year. It’s 55 degrees in Ormond Beach and thirty-two degrees in Albany. Today I watch neighbors walk by wearing wool hats, boots, gloves and winter jackets.
. . . just saying, it’s another sunny day in Florida
I complained in front of a room of people that writing about current affairs was difficult today. Johanna, a reader, reminded me previous posts were humorous without being political. So, let’s revisit them.
(The conversation below is between two women in a doctor’s waiting room. )
“Unacceptable! My time is of value, too. Why aren’t you complaining?”
“I was told the doctor was running late when I signed in.”
“This is ridiculous. I’ve been waiting more than twenty minutes. My appointment was for nine fifteen. What time was your appointment?”
“Well, I’m not sure; I think nine thirty, why?”
“It’s better if everyone is out of sorts. I can complain for you, make something up, like your dog is in the car, sick and needs to be taken to the Vet.”
“Reading here is as enjoyable as anywhere.”
“Boy, you people are annoying, must you be so perky and pleasant?”
“You’re upset. Why don’t you thumb through a magazine? There’s a travel article about Hawaii in this one. Have you been there?”
“You think looking at pretty pictures of places I can’t afford to travel to will help me… what? Be happy I have to wait for a man, I pay to tell me I’m sick. And looking at colorful advertisements won’t help either. I’m Acerbic. My parents and grandparents, on both sides, were Acerbic and proud of it.”
“Acerbic? Is that … American or … a religion?”
“Acerbic is a way of life. You got a problem with that? Our dispositions are generally crabby. We find fault in others quickly and enjoy being sarcastic.”
“Golly gee, everyone feels crabby from time to time.”
“Golly gee? Golly gee, we’ve been sitting here over a half hour. Can’t you pretend you’re a little annoyed? That wing back chair looks awful uncomfortable. These doctors are all the same; think they’re better than the rest.”
“His nurse said the doctor had an emergency, it sounded serious. Are you really Acerbic?”
“Our whole neighborhood is Acerbic. We don’t like friendly. People yell, ‘Don’t park in front of my house, jerk’ and threaten, ‘If your dog pees on my grass, I will call the police!’ Although things are changing. Someone, I can’t find out who, moved my garbage pail out of the street on a windy day.”
“You don’t mind if I read my book?’
“Of course I mind. I get it. Why not say shut-up? Add please if you have to. It’s easy; watch my lips, ‘Will you please shut-up!’ ”
“No, tell me about your life.”
“Actually I had a great childhood. We owned a small cabin not far from Route 95 below the Georgia border. Dad named it Acerbia. It was a retreat where we could be sour and discontent on weekends and during vacations. You know, say nasty things about neighbors and relatives.”
“Was that fun?”
“Are you kidding, of course, the best. By the way, they call me Unfortunately. I’m Unfortunately Fortunato. What’s your name? Not that I care.”
“Unfortunately is a first name? And Fortunato your family…?”
“Mom wanted an Acerbic name, nothing cheerful or common like Hope, Joy or Grace.”
“That had to be a difficult name for a child. Did she think it was a mistake?”
“No, Difficult and Mistake are my brothers. Mother named them good, too, because Difficult is in prison and Mistake, chronically unemployed.”
“Was that a surprise?”
“They still haven’t called anyone. All they do is talk on the phone. Someone else has to complain. You can do it. I like your pink eyebrows.”
“My eyebrows are pink?”
“Yea, they match your lipstick, compliment that bluish tint in your hair, and look cool on a woman your age.”
“My hair isn’t blue! I’m not that old.”
“Isn’t that book you’re reading in large print?”
“It’s easier I don’t have to remember my glasses.”
“Most seniors get a little forgetful. It’s normal, not a problem unless you can’t remember what glasses are. You know glasses magnify things, right?”
“I know what glasses are for and I didn’t forget them. I do not need them to read a large print book.”
“Did you hear that? The receptionist called Ms. Fortunato. That’s me, Unfortunately. Doc’s ready for me. Have a rotten, day”
“You too, and my eyebrows aren’t pink!”
. . . just saying
“Acerbic” draws on personal experience and is published in FWA, Let’s Talk by Peppertree Press.The challenge for that Anthology was to use a dialogue format to present your short story.
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Poetry can touch you heart, even if there is no rhythm or reason in the words. I remember getting goose bumps when Kate Smith sang God Bless America, and if chosen to hold the flag for the class to pledge alliance, feeling special. I wrote this poem years ago, during simpler times, and have posted it before. It’s a favorite of mine.
Can an itsy bitsy bug be patriotic?
His red, white, and blue symbolic,
A political view
Understand freedom . . . be equal too
Like a school age kindergartner
Raise his hand to hold the flag
Chosen, glad with honor
Knows to say a prayer
Can an itsy bitsy bug be patriotic?
Puff his chest, recite the pledge
Listen to a voice within
Battle for the helpless, or let the bullies win!
Stand side by side with those who care
Silently and stare
Misty eyed while taps is played for those who dare
Think America is beautiful
Can an itsy bitsy bug be patriotic?
. . . . just saying
Previous post, “Bored On The Fourth of July”
Who knew I would become a writer in retirement? Certainly not me.
How did this happen? Well, Bob and I retired in 2008. He took up golf and I took up writing. I had never kept a journal nor written anything other than lesson plans and a monthly business newsletter. But words began to dance around in my head and I started writing behind a closed door.
Bob inquired numerous times, “What are you doing in there?” And I admitted, “Writing,’ and joined a writing group where I learned to write and started blogging in 2011.
The idea for Morningside Drive developed after reading a newspaper article about missing people in 2014.
The process to publishing has been a challenge, and until recently said writing was a pastime that occupied my time and mind.
Little did I know promoting Morningside Drive would be fun.
Two events in Ormond Beach, the first on June 26th at Soraya Cafe (call 386-265-0137) and the second, July 20th at Halifax Plantation Club (call 386-676-9600 ex 337), have been planned. Reservations are required. I’m looking forward to meeting you.
I want to thank the readers of claudiajustsaying.com for encouraging me all these years. I’ll continue to blog and hope you’ll continue to read.
You can purchase Morningside Drive here.
Yesterday a new subscriber viewed this post that I wrote in 2012, thirteen years ago. Rereading the memory of my Aunt Carol made me smile and I thought you might smile too. Please let me know.
My aunt died recently at the age of ninety-two. Peculiar was how my mother described her sister. It was a kind word choice considering, and gave my aunt personality and style, rather than label her strange.
Born on January 13, 1920, her dad, Charles Achilles DeSalvo, named her Marie Antoinette while his wife was sedated. She was called Carol and legally changed her name once she was twenty-one.
As a twelve-year-old, I watched her layout under garments (padded bras, garter belts and silk panties) on the bed, to wear after a bath and thought she was a princess.
She wore high heel, open toe, sling back shoes lined with Kleenex tissues, as slippers; bathed with Palmolive soap, used a pumice stone to ward off foot callous, brushed her teeth with tooth powder and applied makeup sitting at a dressing table in a house coat. The final step once I zippered her newest dress was to take out the Bobbie-pins and comb through her hair. She did not dilly-dally but was fashionably late for cocktails.
Aunt Carol was frozen in time. Nothing changed for her since 1958 when she owned a green Buick. She had a Nancy Regan style, but never went to Washington.
Her hair-do the day she died was the same as the day my parents married. She never had children and did not marry until sixty. She did not wear slacks, low shoes, socks, or sneakers. Every dress she owned was individually surrounded with plastic and stored in a closet. I still can hear her response to the mention of denim, “Only cowboys wear denim,” she said with a sharp rise in her voice, clutching a tissue.
Aunt Carol loved to shop and demonstrated peculiar behavior at the checkout. She watched carefully every item rung up as though it was her first trip to Disney then waited for the cashier to ask, “Will that be cash or charge?”
Aunt Carol eventually said “Credit Card,” with a look of disdain, then opened the metal clasp on her black leather purse, and removed a zip lock bag. A wallet wrapped in Kleenex tissue secured by a blue rubber band was inside the plastic. Unwrapping, the wallet was a slow process that suspended time for everyone around her. Eventually she removed a credit card and paid.
I wonder what her life would have been as Marie Antoinette DeSalvo.
…just saying
Moringside Drive is now available a friendly review on Amazon will help to put me on the suggested list.
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I’m back from a cruise. I went with a group better known as Girls Night Out, or GNO. My mind struggles to state acronyms correctly, and this is no exception, so I tell people I’m going on a cruise and men aren’t invited.
It doesn’t matter where we’re going. All I need to know is the date and boarding time. . . so I don’t have to shop for food, cook and clean for seven days, all in a row.
We left from Port Canaveral, which is within driving distance if you live in Florida. The ports were Norwegian’s or NCL’s private island, Great Stirrup Cay in the Bahamas, Falmouth/ Jamaica, Georgetown/ Cayman Islands and Cozumel/Mexico.
The ship docked in Falmouth port rather than tender, and shopping and restaurants were a few steps away. But walk a little further and you’ll see how most locals live. Signs pave the way into the town center and tell the real story of Britain’s attempts to enslave Jamaicans while passing their efforts as freeing them from poverty.
In Georgetown almost everything was beautiful and we went to the Cayman Turtle Center.
Green turtles are very large, friendly and native to the island. For a time they were endangered and consequently, now protected by law. I did buy something to remind myself they will swim to you and like to be stroked on their head. It’s a new grocery bag to replace my 15 year old one. The photo is the two bags side by side. I planned to discard the old bag but if still has life in it and can’t.
In Cozumel we took a trolley city tour and I bought 12 ounces of Mexican chocolate for $30. I’ll let you know if it taste different from other chocolates. The chocolate factory located on the island employs many people. We do no cooking or cleaning. We mostly. . . just laughed.
Thank you Judy. I’m having fun.
Happy Thanksgiving to Family, Friends and Readers
When I put on an apron to start cooking today, memories of my grandmother’s flowered aprons came to mind, and the loud unruly Thanksgiving dinners of the past. At least twenty people were crammed around a dinning room table in her one bedroom apartment. Today there will be three of us, but. . . it is still Thanksgiving, a day of gratitude.
I didn’t cook turkey. It is too much work. I cook Lemon Chicken from the Sopranos Family Cookbook, stuffing and green beans. It was delicious and we didn’t miss the turkey.
I made an apple tart, thinking of my grandmother’s pies; apple, pumpkin, and mincemeat.They rested on an ironing board in her kitchen.
After dessert, the girls chose an apron to wear while cleaning the kitchen. Grandma visited with the other relatives until the dancing started; which was followed my turkey sandwiches, made of white bread, cranberries, and mayo.
Do you still wear an apron? I do.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.
. . . just saying, Claudia
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