My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

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From Doorbells to Deadlines: A Personal Reflection on This Writer’s Life

by on ·Blogging, The Writing Life

The life of a writer! It sounds glamorous, doesn’t it? But I don’t fool myself. I completely understand why I—and many authors—need to escape to a secluded place when we want to write something noteworthy, whether it’s a book or a blog.

Seclusion – it’s the only way to achieve that elusive state of peace. In my home, I’m constantly interrupted by the sirens of emergency vehicles racing down the street, the constant ringing of the phone, the doorbell that seems to have a personal vendetta against my productivity, or the loudmouth neighbors who gather just outside my open windows to chat, like an unwelcome committee. Thank goodness using the air conditioner in the summer means I can keep the windows closed.

It’s nearly impossible to write anything coherent when surrounded by people who think “quiet” is a type of fabric. I once read about Maya Angelou’s writing method, which involved renting a hotel room, stripping it of distractions like telephones and televisions, and hanging a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door. I admit I was envious. But inspired, I gave it a shot, too. Let’s just say my version was more “budget-friendly.” I stayed home and printed a sign in the 48-point font that read, “I am taking an online class. Please do not disturb.” (I found it necessary to be a bit crafty because I know my neighbors. They are persistent.) Then, I taped it to my door just beneath the doorbell. Either the sign worked wonders, or my neighbors finally found something else to do besides disturb me.

Now, don’t get me wrong; my neighbors mean well. They often ring my doorbell to deliver a package that the Amazon courier left on the porch to prevent the porch pirates from getting it first. But sometimes, they phone me out of sheer boredom, as if my life is a soap opera they can tune into. Most of them are retired, just like me, and we’ve all been living in this complex long enough to know each other’s life stories better than we know our own. Back in the day, we were busy with jobs, raising our children, and the chaos of life. Now, the day’s highlight seems to be finding out who has the juiciest gossip.

I suspect my neighbors think I’m anti-social. After all, I’m not one to hang outside or sit on the porch and engage in idle chit-chat. I prefer the company of my numerous books (reading) and my computer (writing). When working at the computer, I usually have the TV on in the background, tuned to the all-news station. The volume is generally lower than a whisper, or it’s muted.

When the phone rings, I glance at the screen to see if I want to answer. Thanks to my bundled cable service, I have what I call “TV caller ID.” It’s a brilliant way to dodge telemarketers and those friends who think a conversation should last longer than a Netflix binge.

Since retiring, I’ve embraced a reclusive lifestyle. It’s my time now—me time. For years, my time was consumed by work, children, and the daily grind. I have always loved my kids, but I can’t count how many times while they were little that I silently wished they would grow up and get a place of their own. And then, just like that song, “Turn Around,” says, they did—faster than I could say “empty nest.”

So now, liberated from a job and dependent children, I finally have time to write a blog and work on penning the great American novel. Unfortunately, I can only do my best writing without interruptions after midnight or during that predawn period in the morning when the world is blissfully quiet, and my quasi-spouse is sleeping like the dead.

It’s incredible how creativity flourishes when you’re free from distractions. Just this morning, I woke up at 5:30 AM, and in shortly less than a miraculous hour, I managed to finish this post without a single disturbance. The post-midnight hours are my secret weapon, my sanctuary. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to rent a cabin in the woods or reserve an extended stay at a hotel every time I want to write, and I have at least two “in-progress” books trapped in my head, begging for completion. They’re prisoners of my own making, waiting for the day I can escape to a quiet place to complete them.

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That’s Just Me

by on ·Blogging, Daylight Savings Time, Fashions, Friendships

Experts recommend that bloggers post a minimum of one-to-three times a week. I find that laughable. One-to-three times a month is more my speed. Some resourceful bloggers post daily. God bless ‘em!

As everyone knows, few things leave you more vulnerable than exposing yourself to public scrutiny. Being the author of an online journal certainly does that. Bloggers are known to be opinionated, and the cost of speaking our minds sometimes draws criticism, which means it helps to have a thick skin, a touch of chutzpah, or both. Nevertheless, we must still be wary of many things, including naming names or saying anything that might set off a wackadoodle or two in this crazy world (and it doesn’t take much).

That said, I’m trying to step up my game and post more frequently. If you think that is easy to do, slap yourself – twice. Bloggers may be opinionated, but putting our thoughts out for the world to see is not something a wise person does indiscriminately for numerous reasons. And if you need to analyze that statement, then slap yourself again.

So, for my regular readers who are wondering why this is my second post to pop up in your email box within a few days, consider it explained.

Some of you can relate to this: I struggled to make it through last week, but I did it! Every year Daylight Savings Time (DST) throws me off-kilter. This year is no different. It’s a week since DST began, and my episodes of suddenly nodding off and deliberately napping throughout the day have finally subsided. It’s bad enough that I rarely get the recommended amount of sleep. I can’t remember the last time I slept 7-to-8 hours a night.

A day or two after DST required that we move clocks ahead one hour, I heard Whoopi (on The View) and other television personalities lament the annual time change. One doesn’t have to be a specialist to realize that something strange happens to many of us during the twice-a-year time change. The fall-back change isn’t as bad as the spring-forward. I don’t know about anyone else, but the latter screws up my body and mind, beginning on the Monday after and for the days following. I can’t drink enough coffee to avoid frequently yawning and nodding off like a drug addict.

I learned that a bill is pending in congress to make Daylight Savings Time permanent. So this is one time I hope that legislators, if necessary, will vote across party lines and support a law that would eliminate the twice-yearly time change.

*             *             *

Have fashion designers run out of ideas? I see styles trending back to those big, ugly shoulder pads in women’s clothing. I didn’t like them when they were stylish in the eighties, and I don’t like them now. Back then, I cut out some of those monstrosities from my blazers and blouses. Need I say that in some cases, that did not go well?

Nevertheless, if I were to buy something with shoulder pads now, which I would not, I’d remove them again. I have no problem with my tops revealing the natural slope of my shoulders. That’s just me. You all know what I always say, “Different strokes.”

*             *             *

Some people go out of their way to make friends. I’m not one of them. However, ask anyone who knows me well, and they’ll likely tell you I am friendly once you get to know me. I’m just not what I’d call a people person. (That sounds contradictory, doesn’t it?)  I’m not inclined to walk over and introduce myself to someone at a social function or welcome a new neighbor to the hood with a gift basket of cookies or teacakes. I’d also be suspicious if a potential neighbor did that for me. I’ve probably watched too many episodes of Fear Thy Neighbor on the ID channel. But lest I am misunderstood, let me tell you that I have cultivated many genuine friendships over the years, including other bloggers.

Speaking of friendships. Here’s a question for the court of public opinion. Say you come home and find on your voicemail a message from a platonic friend whom you’ve known for several years. Then, you two fell out nearly a decade ago over an argument concerning a particular obnoxious politician. (Need I name names? LOL) The phone message left says, in short, “Hi. This is (I won’t reveal his name either). I’m just calling to see how you are doing. You can call me back (and he leaves his number unchanged from the one I already have in an old address book).

What would you do? Act as if nothing happened and return the call, resuming the friendship as it previously was, with periodic emails and phone calls, or would you ignore the message, and move on, leaving the acquaintance in the yesteryears (while in your mind wishing the former friend well)? I chose to do the latter, and that’s just me. What would you do?

 

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New Year Rising

by on ·Blogging, General, Journaling/Writing, Lifestyle and Culture

Wham! And just like that, we have crossed the threshold of 2022. Bearded Father Time handed to Baby New Year much of the same baggage from ’21:  The pandemic. Gun violence. And the incivility of ill-mannered politicians, athletes, and other malcontents

Author Anne Lamott in her book Dusk, Night, Dawn, suggests, “We summon humor to amend ghastly behavior and dismal ongoing reality.”

What Anne is saying is, “Chill!” I like her attitude. But everything doesn’t work for everybody. Some people are born with the gift of gab, other folks have an innate sense of humor. On the other hand, I am usually unfunny and can rarely tell a joke without blowing the punchline.

By the way, since this is a new year, and I hope to welcome new readers, let me tell you newbies a little about myself and Potpourri101. Potpourri is my online journal. Unlike a private journal, there is a limit to how much personal information I disclose in my public journal. I know folks like to read juicy stuff and get a full course meal, but I’m only serving hors d’oeuvres on this site. Because even Simple Simon knows that the writings on a blog are immortal, they will outlive the author and be around for as long as the Internet exists.

I’ve been composing poems and short stories since I was a child. I am 12 years a blogger (not to be confused with 12 years a slave unless you count low-wage earning jobs I held while employed in corporate America). I am also a published author. I would love to be on the New York Times Best Seller list one day, but since I’ve got more years behind me than in front of me, I may not live long enough to write the great American novel. That’s the small stuff that I don’t sweat because the reality is that we are all terminal.

Still, who knows, some of the books that I have in progress may one day be published posthumously. That brings me to an interesting tidbit about authors. It is common knowledge that many famous authors were alcoholics. Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allen Poe, Patricia Highsmith (author of The Talented Mr. Ripley), and Carson McCullers (The Heart is a Lonely Hunter), and that’s not even half of them. Since I don’t drink alcohol, perhaps teetotalism stalled my writing career. Nah! Caffeine is my addiction of choice despite the clever quip written by a possibly alcoholic anonymous author, “Step aside coffee. This is a job for alcohol.”

Many of my close friends will tell you that I am ambitious, opinionated, competitive, and transparent. What you see is what you get. Speaking of friends and associates, I believe it’s mostly true – you know, that saying about birds of a feather. But, of course, sometimes odd birds sneak into the flock the way the FBI infiltrated the Black Panther Party during the Sixties. Still, subversion aside, we tend to associate with people whose character and interests mimic our own.

People tend to think that I am an extrovert, to the contrary, I am very much an introvert, and I guard my privacy like the secret service protects the White House. I even prefer being around plants and domesticated animals to people. Strange bird, huh?

Unlike some baby boomers my age, I love computers and enjoy other contemporary devices like tablets, iPods, and iPhones. Speaking of cell phones, I prefer text to talk. Texting seems much more time-efficient than having a discussion comprising more filler phrases than meaningful conversation. I especially like the talk-to-text feature, except when I speak too fast and don’t enunciate clearly. Then, the message can be entirely different from what I intended to say.

Another thing that annoys me about texting is group text messages. That’s when a sender sends a text message simultaneously to multiple parties. Most of us have received one of them at some time or another. I am no fan of group texts because every time someone responds to the original message, the entire group receives the reply instead of just the sender. I find that so annoying, especially when I am busy writing or trying to sleep.

Group text messages remind me of when folks used to send chain letters. Remember those? Someone would send snail mail letters to several people with the instruction that each recipient make copies and send them to others. I never complied.

I am very competitive. I enjoy playing word games online, especially Puzzly Word, Words with Friends, and board games like Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit. I also enjoy stimulating conversations with open-minded people who discuss fact-based topics and don’t base their arguments solely on conjecture and prejudgment. I respect other people’s personal opinions but have no patience for foolishness.

I like to dabble in political and social activism, but I am not the die-hard type to sit at the lunch counter while agitators pour catsup on my heard. I am a peace-lover, and I appreciate the sacrifices made by those protesters during the civil rights era, but non-violence has its limit.

When I was a timid, early adolescent little girl, growing up in the projects, I was taught that you don’t start a fight, but you don’t let another kid chase you into the house either. If someone hits you, you hit them back. I knew that if words came to blows, I had better knock the grit out of whoever I was fighting (draw first blood Rocky would say) because it was likely that if I didn’t come off swinging hard, I’d get my skinny butt beat. Strangely, I can recall being in only four fistfights during my youth and with whom; they were three girls and one boy on different days.

We were all in the same age group and attended the same school, and I remember their names. Teresa, Sandra, Patricia, and Ricky. They all lived in the neighborhood, but they had a reputation for starting trouble, unlike me. At one time or another, I fought with each of them, only once and that ended our rivalry. In those days, kids mainly fought with their hands. Socking. Scratching. Kicking. Biting. Sadly, today the cowards settle the score with guns.

I am an advocate for the underprivileged and downtrodden. I have empathy and tolerance for the needy, not the greedy. Greedy, selfish people are my nemesis.

Well, enough about me. All things considered, 2022 is the most remarkable year ever, considering that as I write this, we are only 16 hours into the new year.

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Seeking Senior Bloggers

by on ·Aging, Blogging, Opinion, Retirement, Technology, Word Press

Have you ever said to yourself, “I’d love to be a blogger, if only I knew where to begin? I don’t even know how to use a computer.”

According to The Pew Research Center out of 500 million bloggers, less than 1 percent are age 65 and over. Bloggers in the 21-to-35-year-old demographic group account for over 53 percent of the total blogging population, followed by 19 percent who are 36-to-50-years-old. But enough boring statistics and more about the sparse number of senior bloggers.

I am in the 1 percent. No, not that 1 percent, the “less than” group identified by Pew. Before the door of opportunity opened 12 years ago, I had no plans to include blogger on my resume. Then, one day a friend suggested, “Why not augment your love for writing and create your own blog?” Thus, post-retirement, I birthed my second career and added personal blogger to freelance writer and published author.

In addition to writing a blog, I study them. I’ve found that the gazillion younger than 50-year-old bloggers tend to write about fashion, politics, health & fitness, music & entertainment and technical devices. Although some senior bloggers tackle those same subjects, the majority of posts written by seniors concern elder lifestyles and the challenges of advancing years. Many of their posts have titles about subjects that very young readers would call old people stuff. Healthy Aging (translation:  avoiding the decrepit zone). Fighting Aging (Good luck with knocking that out). Defying the Aging Process (enter Botox and plastic surgery). And the topic that none of us old-schoolers want to discuss, the one that keeps most of us in denial – Funeral Planning (Think Dreamgirls, “And I am telling you, I’m not going.”).

Anyone who retired in let’s say the last 15-20 years who did not learn computer skills while they were in the workforce, I will bet you my best friend’s social security check that some of them are not inclined to do so now. Sadly, I know mature people who not only lack computer skills, but some think that a hard drive is being on the road for two hours or more without making a rest stop.

For seniors who want to learn to compute – it is not too late. There are basic computer classes available everywhere. It seems pointless to ask someone who may not own a computer and lacks computer skills to check on-line for computer classes, although a tablet or smartphone might suffice. But you could ask a computer-savvy friend to help you search online, or inquire about classes at a library near you. Some libraries offer free computer classes that provide hands-on training to adults. AARP offers tech training for people 50 years and older.

Seniors, you need to get that training and start blogging so that we can increase our numbers in the blogosphere. There are plenty of things to blog about:  sports, travel, food, name it and claim it. And of course, there is the personal blog.

I enjoy being a personal blogger. That’s my forte’. However, I offer some words of caution to potential personal bloggers. Share your thoughts at your discretion.

Before jumping in with both feet, think of personal blogging as swimming nude at a public pool. Your posts will be as exposed as a naked swimmer on a diving board. It is one thing to log your personal experiences and private thoughts in a diary, but another to publish something on-line that the whole world can see. Be forewarned. Accept that putting yourself out there, placing your thoughts on display will open you up to criticism and as well as complements. But don’t let the fear of criticism deter you. Life is too short to worry about what others will say about you. Do your thing – with style and humor – and give them something to talk about.

Here are some basic tips on getting started with your blog.

  • Choose a domain name. The domain is the address of your website that people type in the browser’s URL bar to visit your site. Imagine that your website is your home and think of the domain name as your address. I chose Potpourri101 because it suggests a variety or mixture of subjects, not just old folk stuff. In the American university course numbering systems 101 often designates a course for beginners in a particular subject. Thus, potpourri101. (A blog can be set up with or without a unique domain name depending on who is hosting your site.)
  • To make your website accessible to other people on the Internet, you need a “host.” The web host provides the technologies and services required for the webpage to be viewed on the Internet. It will store all of your website files:  code, text, images, video, etc, on servers.
  • Get a blog platform. A blogging platform is a software or service that you use to publish your content. There are many platforms, but I like WordPress because it offers numerous free blog themes. Imagine having an interior designer decorate your home. The theme is the appearance or decoration, so to speak, of your website. You may want to check out Godaddy.com or SiteGround.com as sources that host WordPress sites. A downloadable copy of an excellent book WordPress for Absolute Beginners can be found here.

After you get everything in order, write, write, write on your blog! It will expand your horizons.

In the process of exchanging comments and emails about some of my posts, I’ve made friends with other bloggers as well as readers who are not bloggers. And lest you think that the lot of them are old fogies, they are not. Many of them are as young as you – or as young as you think you are.

I hope this post will encourage other seniors who may have scratched “become a blogger” off of their list. We’re waiting for you to join us. Just do it!

 

 

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Fanning the Flame

by on ·Blogging, Journaling/Writing, The Way I See It

My personal journal has 786 pages, 319,829 words, so far. I know that because the status bar in my Microsoft Word document tells me so. Experts will tell you that there are some differences in a diary and a journal, for this purpose I’ll use both words interchangeably.

Sometime around the late 1970s, I began journaling. Like many people who write diaries I used a pen and paper, and in the years that followed, I dutifully filled three, thick loose-leaf binders with almost daily entries. And then one day, I shredded every single page from each of those volumes.

Thinking about it now, I realize that it was not the first – nor last – regrettable thing I have done in my lifetime. But on that day, some years ago, when I destroyed my journals it was because I had a flashback to when I was around 12 or 13 years old.

In those early teen years, I had a little diary with a pink cover that I had purchased from Murphy’s five and dime store. The diary had a flimsy key lock that one could easily open with a hairpin. I kept the book hidden from my family – so I thought – between the mattress and box-spring on my twin-sized bed. Teenagers today are much savvier. They know that of all the places to hide something, beneath your mattress is the last place. That’s the first place your mother looks for your stash of anything.

Before I tell you, I’m sure that you’ve already figured out that my mother found my diary and even worse, she read it. There were no shocking revelations in there, just the age-appropriate thoughts, emotions, observations, and dreams of a young teenage girl growing up in the early sixties.

Back then, I was no different from many teenagers today who feel that they cannot talk to their parents. I found comfort in writing in my diary. It gave me someone to “talk” to and confide in. When one day mother’s teasing and censuring let me know that she had read my diary, I felt hurt and violated. I ran to my bedroom, grabbed the diary from beneath the mattress, and tore out every page that had anything written on it, and then I ripped those torn-out pages to slivers. When I finished, the floor around my small wastebasket looked like a confetti bomb had exploded. I picked up the paper that had missed the wastebasket, tore it some more, and then tossed it and the diary cover with its flimsy lock and remaining empty pages into the trash.

Fifteen years after I destroyed that first diary, I purged the journals that I had begun writing after I left home. Purge two was also unplanned and happened unexpectedly. I was distressed over something that occurred earlier in the day. After I recorded the incident in my journal, I spent some time sitting on my bed, reading some of the pages that I had written weeks, months, even years earlier. It wasn’t all bad, but the unpleasant things brought back pain and raw emotions as if it had happened yesterday. I realized that if I suddenly dropped dead, it was likely that my mother would eventually get my journals and once again read my private thoughts. She would not understand the anguish I had endured in the years following my broken marriage because I had never discussed it with her; nor would she comprehend my struggle to overcome the life-altering, ongoing effort to raise my children solely on meager salaries from low-income jobs. But because she had tried to persuade me to stay in a marriage that I felt was doomed, she would say, “Didn’t I tell you?” My journals would have been contemporary fodder for a teasing tongue.

Had she read those old, tear-stained journals they would not have revealed that the broken-spirited young girl expressing herself on those pages, the one determined not to be beaten down by the struggle and liabilities of single-motherhood would eventually mature into a strong-willed woman. But in time she would see and become proud of the finished product.

When I turned on my shredder and began destroying those journals, I thought there go years of memories. But my hesitancy didn’t last. It only took me to imagine my mother’s face as she had mocked my young teenaged self, for me to resume feeding pages into the shredder. Don’t misunderstand, I loved my mother, but she had her faults, as do I, and as do you. If I could reveal why I destroyed those journals without bringing mother into the equation, I would, but I can’t.

Unfortunately, I never imaged that one day I would be writing a blog and even a book or two and I sometimes regret my spontaneous decision to destroy those journals. Life wasn’t all bad. There were many pleasant days and events that I recorded in those pages, especially times spent doing fun things with my children, but as age would have it, many memories of my past are now mere shadows in my mind.

Aside from the fact that writing is therapeutic, the desire to write burns in me like an eternal flame. So of course, I eventually began journaling again. But now, instead of writing everything down, I use my computer. My journal is password protected. My dear mother, God rest her soul, is dead and my children are grown. Anyone who gains access to my journal now or after I’m gone won’t find it so accessible. And if they do happen to learn the password and read my private thoughts, they may decide that it wasn’t worth the effort to try and pry and perhaps judge.

I often write about my life on my blog, and some of my narratives come from my journal. Of course, I only reveal publicly what I want to share and I suppose that’s one reason I keep procrastinating while writing my second book. There is so much more that I want to disclose than was shared in the first book.

Book two will be a memoir picking up where book one ended. It won’t have the historical value of say, The Diary of Anne Frank, or the comedic impact of The Diary of Bridget Jones, but it could possibly read like the Diary of a Mad Black Woman. It will be introspective. It will be me.

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