My next adventure was not much fun

moveable kitchen cart

After spending a wonderful weekend in the mountains of NC and North Georgia, I came home energized and anxious to write and submit some of my work. Gay was pleased to see me feeling much better and anxious to start writing again.

All was well until Tuesday evening. I was in the kitchen making myself a cup of coffee. I turned away from the Keurig to get some water and suddenly my foot slipped, I felt myself falling and reached out to balance myself on the kitchen cart I bought for storage. But it moved, and I fell on the hard floor. I realized quickly that I could not get up. My left leg, foot, and my hip were all in great pain. 

I was fortunate that Gay and Stu had come home and were upstairs. I called out loud and repeatedly, afraid they might not hear me, but they did and called that they were coming. Gay said when she arrived Lexie was sitting close by my head which was resting on the floor. I didn't even realize she was there, but it was so sweet to know she sat by me quietly as though she could comfort me. 

That was the beginning of another night at the ER. 

"Just give me an ice pack and help me to bed," I told the firemen and my family. But all of them insisted I should be checked out to see if I had any broken bones.

Many hours later I was dismissed with the assurance that nothing was broken.

In the days that followed, I felt as if my back was broken. The pain was atrocious and sitting was almost impossible. Today is the first time I have been mostly pain free. I drove my car up to Canton, GA and Gay and I had dinner at the https://www.crackerbarrel.com/ after trying to shop at an outlet mall. Too much walking was involved for shopping so I won't do that again any time soon. 

We were all so thankful that I had not broken my hip. I know that could have made a huge change in my life and in Gay and Stu's lives. 

Life is good and I am very blessed. Next weekend, I will go back to the mountains when my dear friend, Scott Owens, poet, wil be in Hayesville and in Hiawassee. 

We will have a good time and I will feel good, I'm sure.

Have a good week. Hug someone.

The Adventures of Glenda and Lexie

This is Lexie trying to tell me something important. If I could just learn dog language we would have the most interesting conversations. 

Life is never dull for me. I will begin with my visitors on my deck a few weeks ago.

One evening, my darling Lexie, began going out on the deck and barking. 
After ignoring her for a while, I decided to open the door and turn on the light to see what had upset her.

As you can see in the photo above, an opossum had dropped by and found appealing the food that I had left for the birds.  I tried to shoo him away, but he would not move. He crouched a little bit and hissed at me. Lexie had calmed down once she knew I had seen the visitor. So, I said, "Mr. Possum, have fun. I am going inside."  Opossums are good animals who eat ticks and help keep us safe.

In a short time, Lexie began barking again. I went to the door and looked out. The opossum was still eating, but another creature had arrived. In back of the opossum, I saw four small feet clutching the post. I could not see the body that was behind the post until suddenly the new guest poked his head around to see me. The little bandit evidently thought he might chase off Mr. Oscar P. Opossum, and eat the remaining berries, but that was not to be. 

As soon as I opened the door to step out on the deck, Rocky Raccoon disappeared only to show up a few minutes later, his head cradled between the forks of a nearby tree. He was so cute, I had to laugh. I said to Lexie, "Come inside now and let them figure out who will eat the remainder of the berries." 

I never expected to find two wild animals on my deck here in the city. That did not happen in my home in the mountains. But the empty lot on one side of me here is forested and our back yard is left to the Ivey and wild flowers. Just as I learned to live with deer eating my Hosta in the mountains, I'll feed these small creatures and hope they will leave my suet feeders alone. 

I'll post about another recent adventure next time.

Be kind and enjoy every day. 

This month I will appear face to face with an audience for the first time in two years.

One of my favorite writers was a southerner named Pat Conroy. When Gay, Stu and I traveled to the coast of South Carolina a few years ago, we visited Beaufort, SC where Pat Conroy lived. This setting was as much a character in his books as was the people, mostly his own family, who lived in that area. 

In the photo above, I am sitting at his desk. I was thrilled to sit where he wrote all those books I still read. 

The desk is in the Pat Conroy Literary Center  created in his memory and for writers who come and visit. We had an interesting tour and learned much about this very talented man whose books were themes for several major movies.

Here I am at the Tri-County Community College in Murphy, NC where I taught for years until the COVID-19 Pandemic shut it down. I really enjoyed those classes, held in the evening, where I met talented and creative people who wanted to write and improve their writing. Our classes were unusual I think because we bonded so well and developed friendships that have lasted. Although the college is open again to regular classes, the community development classes have not begun again.

This is a headshot of me on my deck in the mountains before the pandemic hit us. I was a happy person who always loved to be with people and enjoyed having friends come and sit with me on my deck high in the tree tops. The virus that shook the entire world took a toll on me and most of my friends here in our region of the southern Appalachians.
 
The isolation was difficult for me and having no family nearby, increased my concern about getting sick and possibly dying as so many older people did in 2020 and 2021. I had a dear friend whose husband was in his 90s and had to go to a nursing home in his last months of life. She could not go inside and be with him so she stood outside his window every day, no matter the weather, and brought him tasty tidbits and talked with him. The saddest part was his insistence that she take him home every time she came to visit him. 

During this time our active writing group discontinued our meetings. The library and the colleges where we met were closed to public meetings.

The John C. Campbell Folk School where we had met each month for many years closed also. Our Literary Hour was discontinued. In three counties of North Carolina and the bordering counties of Georgia, we have a large number of writers and poets who thrive on being with each other and critiquing our work together. These writers publish their work in books, magazines, online journals and reviews.

Some found the quiet time of isolation enabled them in their writing. It did not work that way for me. I was shut off from "my people" who were my friends. I was not motivated and fell into a depressive state. 

I contracted COVID early on and suffered from long-term side effects. In 2020, my last living brother also had COVID and from that time on he was in and out of the hospital. His wife of sixty years died in February of 2021. He passed away in February of 2022.

My life has been forever changed. Although I began teaching writing classes on Zoom, I did not make a personal appearance all these months. I am grateful for the opportunity to teach online and to take classes online. 

But on August 18, at 7:00 PM I will be a guest for the evening along with Brenda Kay Ledford, a poet from Clay County NC at the John C. Campbell Folk School for the return of the Literary Hour. Click the link below to learn more.

https://netwestwriters.blogspot.com/2022/08/literary-hour-returns-to-john-c.html

At the folk school, there is an Open House, a house with no walls, but with a roof and floor. Gatherings have taken place there all summer. Because it is open and has no walls we feel safer from the virus than inside a building. 

We will use this venue for the rest of this year or until it is too cold to meet outside.

Brenda Kay Ledford, award-winning poet and writer

You can read more about this outstanding writer on her blogs.

Find her books on Amazon.com

Brenda and I hope our friends and those who enjoy poetry and hearing good stories will come to the folk school on Thursday evening, August 18. I will share my creative non-fiction and a short story.

For my blogger friends who live too far away to come, I will post one of my stories in a later blog after the eighteenth. 

I hope you have no residual effects of COVID lingering at your house and that you are living your best life each day. 

Don't forget to leave me a comment. It won't appear right away because I must read it first before it goes up. Thanks.

Join me in this writing class on Tuesday evenings, 6 - 8 PM - from your own home

Pass the word!

No matter where you live, you can attend my next writing class on Zoom. Online classes help us reach writers in distant areas who cannot attend in person. 

Quote from a student:   Despite the challenges of ZOOM, my recent Creative Writing class with Glenda Beall proved valuable. Motivation, learning new things and excellent peer review far outweighed the perceived difficulties of distance learning. Hopefully, Zoom classes won’t be the new norm, but if so, know that Glenda and the students handled the shortcomings well. Class notes were emailed and students shared work and suggestions via email and Zoom. I couldn’t ask for a better outcome despite my technical aversions. M.C. Brooks

Beginning May 17 for six weeks I will teach a course on writing your life stories. The classes run weekly through June 21.

Because many work during the day, I am offering this class Tuesday evenings.  6 PM - 8 PM. Fee: $40

Email Glenda Beall - glendabeall@msn.com for instructions on how to register.

Write Your Life Stories for Your Family or for Publication:

Our life stories are a precious legacy. Putting them in writing is a gift to all who know and love us—they can be treasured and enjoyed for generations to come. Facts bring us knowledge, but stories bring us wisdom.

If you are interested in writing family/personal life stories – those significant tales of adventure, transition, love, loss, and triumph, as well as the lovely everyday moments shared with loved ones from the past or the present, come learn specific tools and techniques to retrieve and record them.

We will answer all of your questions about how to write your true life stories. Where do I begin? How can I write about my long life? Who can I include? What can I include?

Students will write a short piece each week and receive feedback from their peers. Each student receives personal attention from Glenda. This class is structured for beginning and intermediate writers.

Please pass this on to those who might be interested. 

Virtual Class March 22, 7 - 9 PM

Join me on Zoom for a two-hour free class on writing about your life.
Read more about it here.

When you write your life stories, you want to Inform, Entertain and Enlighten. This will keep your reader engaged and wanting to read your entire book. We will do some writing in class and you will be given handouts.

You will register with the Carl Sandburg Home Historic Site, Connemara, located in Flat Rock, NC, a delightful place to visit. But I will not be there. I will be home on my computer and you can do the same. Hope to see you there.

John Grisham, Lee Martin and isolation

If you are like me, you are staying home and trying to isolate yourself from the world where this pandemic is flying around like wildfire. This might be putting a knot in your creative writing. 

Glenda wearing a mask because of COVID 19

I spent many hours this past weekend watching and listening to famous writers online. I read John Grishams' early novels, legal thrillers, and watched the movies. I enjoyed the interviews online with him and his conversations with other writers like Stephen King. I heard them speak of how they came up with ideas for plots and characters. 

John Grisham is a down to earth friendly person who has the same values I have. His appearance in Amsterdam a couple of years ago is the most interesting video I watched. 

He was promoting his novel, The Guardians. Grisham’s main character here is a so-called “innocence lawyer,” a workaholic attorney-and-Episcopal-priest named Cullen Post. Post has trimmed his life down to the barest of essentials, living in spartan quarters above the nonprofit Guardian Ministries, his workplace in Savannah, Ga. The book focuses on Post’s investigation into the wrongful conviction of a black man named Quincy Miller who was set up to take the fall for the murder of a white lawyer in a small Florida town some 22 years before the opening of this story.

This story intrigues me because of a story I heard about a black man in Dougherty County Georgia when I was very young. While out hunting, the black man found the bodies of a man and a woman. The woman's husband had discovered they were having an affair, killed them, and dumped their bodies in the woods.

Everyone knew the husband was the killer, but the Powers that Be would rather blame the black man who was accused, arrested, and sent to prison for life for a crime he did not commit. He had no motive and did not even know the couple. 

This was in the days before the Civil Rights Movement and when black people had no voice and no rights in the justice system of south Georgia. It was said that the white man, the killer, was a father and well-thought-of in the community. I tried to research this trial but am not living there anymore and have no names, etc. I wonder if John Gresham would consider it a good story for one of his novels. 

If you need a push to write a piece of fiction, try this tip from Lee Martin, author and one of my favorite bloggers. 

Read it here. 

Life is good. It is snowing. Enjoying Elderhood.

Here I am recovering from COVID and watching the snow falling beautifully. I have survived the virus thanks to having been vaccinated and having taken a booster shot. Gay, Stu, and I tested negative tonight and I am so relieved. With Gay taking care of me and being with me so much, I have been afraid she would catch it, but she has had her shots, too. 

The power was out when I awoke today and I was invited upstairs for breakfast brought in by Stu. Furniture had been rearranged in front of the gas log fireplace, both dogs had their beds near the flames. Lexie loves heat and she was happy. Soon the snow started falling and we could not have wished for a more perfect day. 

Stu is originally from Chicago, and unlike us southerners, he is not afraid to get out and drive in the snow. He even went to the park to take his daily walk. Years ago I would have gone out in the snow and loved it, but now I have to be careful that I don't fall. It is aggravating to have to be conscious all the time of where you put your feet and how you step so you don't twist the bad knee.  

But I can't complain. I loved this day and especially loved the results of the tests we took tonight for COVID. All three of us tested negative!!

I feel so much better. I made a pot of chili. I love chili on a cold day or night. 

Although I had some difficult days early this week, I believe I was spared hospitalization because I had all my vaccination shots including a booster. I also think that having an oximeter and oxygen available here kept me out of the hospital. When I checked my oxygen level and it was 92, I immediately put on the oxygen for about twenty minutes. I had been told to go to the emergency room if my oxygen level fell below 92.

My friend, Carroll, said most people wouldn't know their oxygen level. They would not have that little oxygen meter at home. I advise everyone to purchase an oximeter at their local pharmacy. There are many times I have used mine in the past. Because I have dealt with respiratory problems for a long time, I keep certain things on hand. No one is going to take care of you and manage your health as well as you can. We must all know our bodies, what affects us, what doesn't. 

One of the reasons I have two primary care doctors, one a western medical doctor and one is a functional care doctor, is because one keeps me up to date on the issues medical doctors treat, and the other, who is also an MD, has gone further in her education and can advise me about supplements for to take for certain problems, help me take tests that I want but are not covered by Medicare. With insurance companies running the medical profession now, I think my medical primary care doctor has her hands tied as to what she can do to help me. Limited to fifteen-minute appointments, I hardly get a chance to tell her what she needs to know to help me. And she only wants to hear one issue each visit. 

I want a doctor who treats the whole body, not one symptom at a time. Most people don't know that the drugs given to people my age have never been tested on anyone my age. Drug companies test their new drugs on middle-aged healthy people, mostly men.

Doctors have to guess at the dosage for someone like me and many times we are just guinea pigs testing the outcome of a medicine that was tested on forty-year-olds. If you read the label of most over-the-counter products, you will see dosage for children at different ages, but adults of all ages are to receive the same dose. Recently I was prescribed a medicine that was supposed to help me sleep. I was to take one tablet at night. I did that. Sometime in the night, I had to get up to go to the bathroom. I climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom. Suddenly I found myself halfway down the hall going toward the living room. I had never done that before. I knew it was that new medicine. In many cases, older people react far differently to drugs than younger people.

There is a terrific book out that I am reading called Elderhood, by Louise Aronson, who is a leading geriatrician, educator, and professor of medicine at the University of California, San Francisco. She is not an old person herself, but she has studied and observed older people most of her career. 

She says that most of us will spend more years in elderhood than in childhood. 

So why is it that regular medicine makes little effort to cure the problems of older people? Elderhood is considered a dead-end for many doctors and they don't want to be geriatricians. They don't even want old people as patients. And frankly, as an older person, I don't want a young doctor who cannot relate to my problems or my attitude about my health.

Well, I will stop my lecture and you can read for yourself, this book that all should read no matter your age. If you are lucky you will one day need the information in this book and if you are young you might have parents that need you to understand what they need and how to go about caring for them.

At the present time, I am happy to be here and planning for my future. I have survived COVID and I hope I don't ever have to face it again. But if I do, I will be better prepared to do what I need to do to survive.

Stay safe, my friends. Be careful as you go about in this chaotic world and find something to smile about every day. 

Looking Back Eleven Years Ago

Today, while reviewing another blog, I came across this interview done by Paula Canup in February 2011. 

It seems such a short time ago, but actually, it was eleven years ago. Rosemary Royston was the program coordinator for NCWN-West at that time. I had resigned after serving only a couple of years because my husband had been diagnosed with cancer in 2008. I had opened Writers Circle around the Table in 2010.

So many changes have occurred in my life since then.

Paula interviewed me and the interview was posted on the Netwest blog.

The link to the interview is:  https://netwestwriters.blogspot.com/2011/02/meet-glenda-beall.html

I enjoyed reading it and loved the comments left on this post, especially the words of Joan Cannon who has passed away now.

What do you think? Didn't Paula do a good job? She is into painting now and her work is for sale. 

Paula Canup

 

Festival time in western North Carolina

Glenda Beall with writer Raven Chiong, new member of NCWN-West

This past weekend The Festival on the Square was held on the historic square of Hayesville, NC. Thousands of people attend this event each year, but everything was cancelled in 2020. The NC Writers' Network-West registered for a booth this year. Carroll S. Taylor and her husband, Hugh, volunteered to staff the booth, put up the tent and tables and take it all down on Sunday afternoon. They had a long, tiring weekend, but Carroll said she sold more books than at any other place she has signed books.

Carroll is a novelist with two young adult novels published. She recently published a picture book. Feannag, the Crow is filled with colorful illustrations by Doreyl Ammons Cain.

See more about Carroll at www.chinaberrysummer.com

Brenda Kay Ledford sits with Carroll in front of our banner. Visitors seem to take notice of the Books by Local Authors sign and wanted to take home one of our books. Brenda Kay also published a picture book recently and it, too, had colorful illustrations by Doreyl Ammons Cain

A larger photo of the booth with Brenda and Carroll at the front table.

I sat at the side table on Saturday and Sunday and enjoyed meeting people who stopped by. We wanted to show our presence in the community and encourage novice writers to join us and become a part of our group in western NC. We handed out our brochure with all our contact information and a form for joining NCWN. I expect to hear from folks who want to write and learn more about publishing.

We gave away a number of books and our anthology, Echoes Across the Blue Ridge, was popular with visitors from other states. They wanted to take home a book by western NC writers. This book is still for sale by contacting me.   www.pcncwnw@gmail.com 

I signed up to teach another writing class in September on Zoom. I will give more details later.
Hope you all had a great weekend. I am suffering a bit from sitting in that hard chair for hours, but tomorrow I will be fine again.

My Poetry Book is reviewed

I was very pleased when Marcia Barnes wrote this review of my poetry book, Now Might as Well be Then. It is published in our hometown newspaper where Marcia reviews a local writer's book each month. We have many excellent writers in this area.

Read the review here.

College Football Season

September means football season, or did, at our house. From the time I married Barry Beall, I knew that Saturday afternoons in the fall meant he would be watching or listening to Georgia football.
One time on vacation in Tennessee, we had at a nice cabin in the mountains, but there was no television at that cabin. Barry could not believe that I would book a rental where he could not see the University of Georgia play football.

We drove to the nearest town where he bought rabbit ears in hopes he could get the TV in the living room to play. Seems it was only there to play DVDs. When it became obvious that we would not be seeing the University of Georgia play football that weekend, Barry and my brother-in-law, Stu, drove into town and found a bar where they could see the game.

At home, I knew that Saturday afternoons would always find Barry in his chair in front of the TV. As I moved about the house doing whatever I wanted to do, the sound of the crowd filled the space and the voice of the sports announcer rang loud and clear. Barry was with them, on the field, playing as hard as the uniformed boys on the turf. If the dogs lost, he was down for days. Unlike some fans, Barry never blamed the coach. He was a fan of Coach Dooley and later was a fan of the coach that followed him.

In the early years, I griped because I wanted him to do something with me on the weekend, not sit in front of a screen. I cared nothing about football and actually thought of it as a cruel sport. So many of those young men ended up hurt and even some died due to injuries at practice or in the game. But for a number of years, we rode up to Athens, GA with my brother Rex and his wife to sit in the stands and watch the game. That was really love on my part. In those days women dressed up for the football game in pantyhose, high heels and fall dresses that were far too warm for the summer-like weather. I hated going to those games. Not being a fan, I often had trouble following the plays. One day I fainted. I know that was embarrassing for my husband. We were on our way out when I passed out. He was sweet and kind and took care of me. I woke up with him holding me in his arms.

 Sanford Stadium in Athens, Georgia. I was often in that field of red sweating among thousands

 I liked Uga, the bulldog mascot, but felt real sympathy for him. He would get so hot on the sidelines his tongue practically dragged the ground as he panted. Eventually the dog was given a doghouse on wheels with a big bag of ice inside. I think the owners were afraid he would have a heart attack.

Among things that surprised me after my husband died, was how much I missed Saturday afternoons in the fall when our house was filled with football. I longed to hear the roar of the crowd, and the celebratory sounds coming from Barry's chair when his team won. Something I had taken for granted for 45 years was gone, and I had never thought I would miss it.

I told my friend, Karen Holmes about this and she used my words in this poem.

In Football Season, I Learn to Appreciate What I Have

Twenty-one geese just honked by, low to the gray lake.

My dogs normally ignore bird sounds, yet

rush to the window now, seem to believe

it’s their own species barking a foreign tongue.

As geese do, the honkers turn on a dime,

fly off the way they came.  I think of home,

the language of traffic, how I worry

whenever a siren screams on Peachtree,

say a quick prayer for the dying or injured flying

to Piedmont Hospital, and for the loved ones. My friend

Glenda, a widow for three years, says she misses

football sounds rolling through the house each weekend,

though she had fussed when her husband

wouldn’t turn it off.  Chris watches now.

I’m getting used to it again:  the crowd’s low thunder

under commentator prattle. Sometimes I watch a bit

or bring my laptop to the couch, look up

when the noise swells or Chris swears. Sometimes I get tired

of that TV rumbling most of Sunday after rumbling

most of Saturday, but I remember Glenda.  And I remember

my first husband’s snoring: I’d lie there telling myself

I’d miss it if he were gone, but sometimes I slept

in the other room. I remember Mother, who never spoke

of these things, hinting to me that she wished

she’d been more intimate with Father when she had the chance,

before the earthquake of his Parkinson’s. And farther back,

during my family’s three-week migration to Lake Huron,

I remember Mother mad at him for sticking to the radio’s static

as Ernie Harwell crackled the Detroit Tigers’ play-by-play,

my sisters and I picking at him to swim with us again,

carry us again on his shoulders across the blue deep

to that clear strip of aqua-- the sandbar--

where we’d splash, up to our knees in laughter.

                                ----- Karen Paul Holmes

Visit Karen's website and you can read or hear her read her poems online.

What would you miss in your life if it disappeared tomorrow?

Will the younger generation change our food industry in the United States? We can only hope!

I read a post by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer tonight and I like her subject matter. Her three grown sons have actually made changes in the way Jayne eats. She is amazed that her kids, who were raised on Pop Tarts and sugary cereal, now eat organic foods and buy from people they know instead of shopping from the big name stores. Her thirty-something young men are health conscious.

http://commagoddess.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-return-of-generation-gapin-grocery.html

I related to much of this article, but I don't have children who influence my eating habits. I learned from my mother to eat natural fresh foods, so I cook. Tonight I cooked squash that I will have tomorrow and later this week. 

Rarely do I eat processed foods. I shop the perimeter of the store for the most part, but I do have to purchase coffee. I was happy to read this week that a couple of cups of coffee each day is good for me.

I can't eat red meat now without suffering for it. So, I eat chicken, fish, beans and eggs, lots of eggs. I cook Brussel sprouts and asparagus which I did not eat when I was young.

Sadly the food we grow now is not good because of the depleted minerals in the ground. Every day I learn more about the disaster we have in this country regarding our food. And, I am more thankful that I grew up on a farm with good food every single day.

The only cereal we ate growing up on the farm was grits which we ate with eggs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dr. Mark Hyman, The Doctor's Farmacy podcast, is on a crusade to make our government, as well as all of us, aware of how we are killing ourselves with the unhealthy food available to us.

I was shocked to hear him say that we throw away 40 percent of the food we purchase. Imagine bringing in your groceries and throwing forty percent into the garbage. People in other countries do so much better with food waste. In some countries there are machines that change food waste into products that farmers use. They don't have landfills heaped with all the spoiled food we throw out. As you know, food in the landfills create methane gas that helps create the warming of the atmosphere. Climate Change!

When I hear Dr. Hyman talk about what we Americans do that is so harmful to ourselves and our earth, I want to call him and say How can I help? Give me a job!

Perhaps what upsets me most is hearing Dr. Hyman talk about the research he has done and found our own representatives in Congress hamper the FDA and other departments that were designed to protect us, the American taxpayers. 

The big food manufacturers hold our government hostage with their lobbyists. When the manufacturers donate huge sums of money to the politicians, our elected men and women tell FDA they will cut funding if any programs reflect badly on those large corporations. 

Think about the cereal makers. The sugar industry is an example. You won't see any government banning of any sugar products or putting warnings on products with sugar because the sugar industry is so strong and so rich, they buy our representatives off. No matter that children of today are being diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes at an alarming rate. 

I hope my readers will listen to the interview with Dr. Hyman by Dr. Peter Attia. It is eye-opening and it makes me angry.

Greed is the cause of most of the illness our country. Greed by people who could make a difference if they truly cared. Ignorance is also the problem. Those in Washington don't bother to read or listen to people like Mark Hyman, M.D., director of the Cleveland Clinic Center for Functional Medicine. He is working on that, thank goodness.

If you watch or listen to the interview, please let me know what you think. Leave a comment or send an email: gcbmountaingirl@gmail.com


 
 

We want to be seen, valued and accepted for who we are.

At a crossroads in my life, I am thinking about what I want for my last act.  What do I want to do with my one precious life? Whatever strikes me as useful and valuable.

In 2009, my husband and companion of 45 years passed away. I had to decide: What do I do with my life and who am I now? I opened my writing studio in 2010. It was the most satisfying work I have done since I was in my thirties. I discovered the teacher in me had never gone away, but teaching adults who were happy to be there and who enjoyed being in my classroom exhilarated me.

Bringing good poets and writers from far away to our little town gave me a special joy. Many of our local writers feel they can't travel long distances to attend workshops and conferences in large cities. Writers Circle Around the Table gave them the experience of meeting someone, learning from them and connecting in a way that will be beneficial for the rest of their lives.

A class at Writers Circle around the Table ten years ago

I didn't keep a record of how many students passed through my doors in the past ten years. Some became lasting friends like Barbara Gabriel, who moved across the country and continued with her writing, travel and started a travel blog.  Barbara is a woman who makes a difference wherever she goes. While in our area, she started a Big Sister group. She is smart, interesting and capable of doing what she wants to do.

Ageing is challenging at times. But most of the women I know face problems like taking care of an ill spouse, loss of a loved one, facing their own illness with the wisdom gained over all the years of their lives. My friend, Estelle, in her nineties, is still working on that book about her life she intends to leave for her children. I spent the afternoon with her recently and brought home tidbits of historical knowledge that I can use in writing about my parents, things I had not found on Google.

Another friend who has lived with chronic pain for most of her life and authored a book on the subject, volunteered to facilitate a poetry critique group. She is a well-published poet and is using her knowledge to help others. She has taken on responsibility in her third act that she did not have to accept.

One of my adult students in his seventies has recently become a columnist for his local newspaper. He had never been a writer or journalist before he retired. His articles are creating interest in his county and town, but also from my readers as I publish them on: www.glendacouncilbeall.com
His most recent post was on the Birth of the Constitution.  One reader said it should be published in a large publication where more people would read it.

While this country is obsessed with youth, their music, their morals or lack of, their clothes and all the new technology, women and men in their seventies and older are stepping out and proving that age is not a stop sign on the road of life. No one wants to be discounted because of age. They know they have grown better with age. Most of us finally feel free to pursue our dreams and be our best selves, like one of my favorite people who loves to dance and now in her seventies, she is dancing three times each week and has been asked to participate in a program where she will do 25 dances in one day. And she dances in heels! Wow!!

Hilary Clinton, age 71, and her daughter have collaborated on a book about Gutsy Women. Chelsea used a computer but Hilary wrote in long hand. Together they accomplished a highly praised book I want to read. We can not let technology hold us back. Even younger people are frustrated with much of what we are supposed to know about technology. Some young people cannot read cursive writing. That is a handicap to my way of thinking. They are having to learn or struggle with the failure of what our school system imposed on them.

Adult children sometimes try to put their ageing parents in a box. They have preconceived ideas that an older person's ideas are no longer relevant or important. They shame their mothers and treat them like children. That really angers me.

In a recent post Maria Shriver said older women she interviewed said they feel more confident as they age, and they would not go back to their younger selves if they could. I feel the same way. Life after fifty has been the best part of my life. I would never want to go back to the shy, insecure and fearful person of my youth.

"It’s a privilege to use your voice on behalf of things you care about, no matter the stage of life." I believe Shriver's words are true. I find myself speaking up and using my voice on behalf of things that are important to me,   and I will continue to do so as long as I can.

Do you find that you speak up more as you age? Is your third or last act what you want it to be?

OUT OF THE SHADOWS

My blogger friend, who lives in Australia, volunteers on a suicide hotline. 
She recently participated in a walk, Out of the Shadows, to remember those who have taken their lives and to let the families and loved ones find a way to honor them. Sue says they have a high rate of suicide in Australia and it has recently been growing.

In the comments on this post, I noticed many people speak of what suicide survivors have said about what might have prevented their efforts to take their lives.

A man said that if only one person had said a kind word to him on the bus ride to the bridge where he jumped that day, it would have kept him from wanting to die.

It doesn’t take much to make a difference in the lives of those who are desperate and feel no hope. Just a smile, a kind word, or simply taking time to listen. So many just want to know someone hears their cry of despair.

But, we don’t do that anymore. Most of us have our heads down and eyes on our smart phones, playing games, checking Twitter or whatever. We are alone in our thoughts, and we are ignoring those who need to know they are seen and that they matter.

I have written before about my delightful mother who never met a stranger in her life. If she didn’t know someone, she made sure she spoke to them and gave them her sweet smile. They felt better because they saw my mother that day – in an elevator, at the grocery store, or in a doctor’s waiting room. No one ever seemed in a hurry to leave her presence.

I often meet people who are like my mother. 
I am like mother in many ways. I like people. I get energized when I am with other people. Unlike the shy girl who was embarrassed when mother struck up a conversation with strangers, I now find myself talking to men or women when I run into them in public.

Recently while shopping at Wal-Mart, I met a delightful woman, in her mid eighties, while standing at a counter searching for items we older people sometimes need. I heard her speaking and looked to see if she was talking to me. She smiled and said, “I’m just talking to myself. I do that a lot now.”

“I do, too,” I said. “I’m the only person who listens,” I joked.

Before long we were in such a deep conversation that we had to let people get past us in the aisle. She had only lived in the area a couple of years and during that time she cared for an ailing spouse who died.

Before I left her, we exchanged our phone numbers and made plans to meet for lunch. It takes so little to give another person a lift or brighten their day. And we gain from that effort. 

I feel sorry for the younger generations that stay buried in their smart phones and never look up to see what they are missing.

I get frustrated at the people who spend more time taking photos of themselves in places they visit, than in actually learning about and enjoying the experience. I can say that, although Barry made photos everywhere we traveled, we never missed the enjoyment of meeting the people who lived there, learning the history of the land and those who settled there. We observed those around us, animals and people, and took that away stored in our memories.

I began this post with the topic of suicide which is also increasing in the United States, and I will share a poem about the first person I knew who committed suicide. It is sad, but asks the question, why? What might have made a difference?

One Flaw

Her mother heard it from the kitchen

her brother heard it above the radio

playing in his room.

She dressed in pale blue blouse

and navy skirt, silver charms around her

wrist, for her seven-thirty date with Tom.

The night before she skated at the roller rink,

blond hair flying ‘round her shoulders,

tanned legs clad in short white shorts.

Image of the perfect sixteen-year old –

Cheerleader, straight A student.

Boys wanted her. Girls wanted to be her.

At precisely seven-fifteen, she changed all that.

Her mother found her daughter’s white bedspread,

her pristine walls, her carefully chosen outfit –

and Ann, blood splattered, destroyed

                          by a single shotgun blast.

By Glenda Council Beall