Irene Peterson's Blog

Yesterday at the meeting (not AA) we were given a warning not to post weird shit on our blogs. Like personal stuff. Like our addresses, our kids' names, things that could lead people to our doors.
Hmm.
Since I use this as a sounding board and a rant reliever and a thought provoker, I'm not sure I can write anything else any more.

Should I stick to writing about writing?
I don't think I can.
I've about covered just about everything anybody could want to hear or anything I felt strong enough about to have other people read.

Do you want to read about how difficult it is for me to get time to write? Or how I don't seem to care much any more because I didn't sell Carly's story yet? How I loved that story and they didn't want to risk buying another contemporary? Or if that was really the reason?

Disheartened. Yeah, you could say that. But then, I'm not the only one. I have to start all over again, only this time I have two books to my credit. If I've sold enough of them, it will be easier for someone else to take me on. If my sales numbers were poor, well, I'm just as dead in the water as every other first timer.

That's how this works. It's all numbers.

Herb was blaring the stereo phonograph downstairs. He was playing the soundtrack from the musical HAIR. What struck me was that none of the sentiment or words was any different. Nothing has changed. We're still in a stupid war. People still don't want to go and fight, only the venue has changed. As the war drags on, it will be harder and harder to find people willing to enlist. The draft is right around the corner and I have nephews, three of them, who are of draft age.

As I listened to the music drifting up through the floor, I realized that I still have that same feeling. You go to war, you die. Jesus, Lord, after all these years, I can't shake that feeling. Though most of the boys I knew who went across the pond came back with their stories of blood and gore and horror, they came back. But there were some who didn't and I knew them and mourned for them, too. I mourn still.

No woman would subject the young people of an entire country to have to suffer through this again.
I know it.

Elyse, today you graduate from college.
It's a big day. One you've worked hard to reach for the past four years. You've given your father and me thrills and excitement, anguish while waiting for those last grades to come in to protect your scholarship, fear over the same thing, and many reasons to be proud.

We aren't sure where your future lies, whether you get the Graduate Assistant job and continue in grad school, or you have to find yourself a real job and go out in the world.
I've given you what I can so far and I'm fresh out of advice since the future isn't certain yet. I don't think you need any more words from me other than for me to tell you that I am proud of you and what you have achieved.

But maybe I can come up with something that will stick with you forever. Maybe.

1. Don't play with fire.
2. Don't ever start drinking.
3. Don't smoke.
4. Don't have any babies without being married.
5. Stay away from guys without jobs.
6. Slacks make your legs look better than short dresses.
7. Bosses are always morons but you have to listen to what they say.
8. It will be a long time before you can be a boss.
9. Be kind to those with lesser intelligence.
10. Always put money in the Salvation Army pot.
11. Eat salads.
12. I have to say it...wear sunscreen. Your skin is very delicate and has to last a
lifetime.

I can't watch this show.
Betty keeps getting shat upon and it isn't fair or nice and there are enough people in the world who are mean to nice people, I don't need to watch it on television.

America is a wonderful actress.
The show is well written and acted.
I hate the plot.

Okay, everybody can think I'm psychotic now. I ought to list all the programs I don't watch, from the dancing ones to the lost ones to the doctor ones to the lawyer ones to the science fiction ones (except for Dr. Who) and it turns out that I watch mostly shows on PBS, A&E, Discovery channel, BBC America, NatGeo, Sci, and the Food Network. There are others, but none of them engage me in pain and anguish.

Real life is bad enough. I don't need to feel sorry for a fictional character.

My website, www.irenepeterson.com, is still wrecked. Karyn has promised to fix it this Saturday.

Our new Pope what's his name oh God I can't remember, something German, I think, well, whatever it is oh, yeah Benedict. well the new pope has declared that the Catholic Church is not opposed to the belief in aliens.


As in individuals from other planets.
Somewhere in the universe.

The reasons for this sudden turn about in far out beliefs? I mean, they didn't like the idea that the world wasn't the center of the universe and gave Gallileo all sorts of shit about that and only recanted it in the last 20 years (I have written about this in this blog somewhere). Now...you take the idea that there is life on other planets, possibly non-human life forms that are created in the image of God (Who may or may not be shaped like people as we know them) and this really, REALLY doesn't seem like something the Church would actually consider much less allow.

But, oh, well, it seems as if the new Pope is trying to drag the Church out of the Inquisition, where anyone toying with the belief that there was life on another planet would probably have been skewered. I say "hurrah". It's about bloody time they caught up with science.

Or, here's a thought in another direction. I wonder if this life they believe might possibly exist on other planets has to look like the God on top of the Sistine Chapel, fluffy white beard, marvelously muscled arms for an old (really old) dude and well, human. What if God really does look like George Burns? Or what if God has no shape? Or if God the idea is really God the all-powerful energy that has no real shape or form?
And if we are made in the form of God, we're sort of relying on our souls to be God-like?

Does that allow for bug-eyed little green men/women/sexually neutral or hermaphroditic aliens?

And here's another weird question to ponder. Were they serious about this?
Yet another question. Would these human-looking aliens created by God then, in turn, be Catholic?

Or Mormons.
Nope, do not want to go there. This is scary enough.

One last thought. If the aliens and earthlings were to marry and procreate, would it be okay as long as they didn't use any method of birth control?
Ponder that one awhile.

Sometimes I worry about the world. I worry about the Saudis owning all the petroleum on earth. I worry about my kids. I worry about my mom and mother in law because they're older now and my closest family. I worry about my husband because sometimes he's a bit rash. I worry about the soldiers and other military in Iraq and all over the world facing danger at every step. I worry about my friends, especially Sandy with her rapidly disintegrating other hip. I worry about college and writing books and the cost of boiled ham.
I don't want to worry about little green aliens, but I guess I'll have to, now.


A view of Area 51 by Thomas Robert McWilliams, Jr., of Beaverton, Oregon, USA

In case you can't read the key, the big countries have the oil. The gold countries have the oil but use the most. The middle eastern countries own us.

I'm surrounded by mothers and potential mothers.
My own mother, God bless her, has taught me a great deal about life. How to endure, how to avoid unpleasantness, how to make do, how to love with a whole heart and soul. I thank her for it.
Her mother taught me the value of a dollar, how to be very careful when spending time and/or money on an investment, whether it be human or monetary and how to work hard and keep things neat. I do not necessarily follow her neatness thing...there just are limits to how neat someone with a lot of stuff can be...but it is always in the back of my mind. Since she even came back from the dead to warn me to clean up a mess, it's something that will be in my psyche forever.
My grandmother's mother, I did meet. She was old and blind and only had one leg and I was very young. If she taught me anything, it was that ignorance is a curse and I should never allow myself to become ignorant, or remain so.
Now, from my grandmother on my father's side, I learned some interesting things. From her, I do believe I inherited my love of romance and reading. Well, if I didn't get that from my own mother, I would have gotten it from her. (My mother is an insatiable reader and she did allow me to read anything and everything.) This grandmother also gave me an appreciation for cooking. In fact, I do believe that all the girls on this side of the family were shown by her how to cook, how to savor, how to blend good quality foods to make even better food out of it. I can still close my eyes and smell sopresata frying in a pan for breakfast, though as a kid, I never touched it. Never.
But I can still smell it in my memory.
Another mother who touched me and taught me was Marge Smith, Sandy's mom. From her I learned not to smoke in public on the street (I don't smoke) and how to stand up for myself, something I would never have learned from any blood relatives. I learned more from bad example than good, I'm afraid, but knowledge of any kind is power and I did learn from Margie. Good or bad, lady, I appreciate all you gave me. I have attempted to pass all of it on to my own girls.
My mother in law is a doll. While I haven't really spent all that much time with her, I've found her to be patient and kind and knowledgable in many areas. She endured a house full of men for a very long time and she survived. She is giving and has a good sense of humor (with all those men around her, she had to have one) and has contributed to my life and those of my daughters. While her health has not always been good, she's survived some bad stuff and done it with grace. This, too, is something to keep in mind forever.
To the ladies who are my friends and mothers, I have learned life from you. You've given me so much and continue to give. I know where to turn when I need help or advice and support. You're out there, scattered all over the state and the country. You mean more to me than you'll ever know and I owe you more than I can ever repay. Thank you so much, my friends. The adventures we've shared have made me more than what I could ever have hoped to be on my own.
Thank you all, ladies. Mothers. Friends. Parts of me that will live on after I'm gone.
I love you all.

While watching an episode of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations on some cable channel, he had me in Scotland, maybe Glasgow, I can't be sure. I was more interested in the scenery than where he (and I) actually was. He met up with a famous Scottish writer whose name escapes me (maybe Ian Rankin) and was sitting in a restaurant eating weird food and discussing how this writer included the underside of this town in all his works. I'm willing to bet it's some kind of mystery/cop/PI stuff, but I cannot be sure since I can't even remember the guy's name.
BUT, here's the point. Bourdain made such a big deal about how the author included all these seamy little bars and shops and small roads and alleyways in his novels. Bourdain loved the authenticity it gave to the books. He went on about how the characters were so much a part of the setting and the setting was so wonderful now that he (Anthony) had actually been in the town and seen for himself what was what.

It is very important to have the setting fit the story. You wouldn't be able to have a mystery in Disneyworld, but you sure could have a murder in Orlando, Florida. It has some really ugly old parts that would fit for a grisly murder. Disneyworld, eh, I sincerely doubt the Disney people would allow a murder to take place there. It really would spoil the fun and you wouldn't want to do that. Besides, they have ferocious lawyers.
But there are other places in Florida that would be terrific for a murder. Miami, any senior village, the Everglades, why not St. Augustine or Pensacola? That way you could bring in the military and they're always good for a murder or two. Spy stuff, also.

So, I got to thinking about writing what you know once again. I don't know seamy sides of anything. I deliberately avoid ugly stuff because I am rather delicate in nature and I detest violence. Well, I'll read it, but skip over the particularly gruesome parts.
I don't particularly like to imagine it, even. However, I do so like to have authenticity in my stories and I do place them in areas I have visited or frequented.
If I can remember what it was like to be there, I can put it into the story. If a place made me feel welcome or uneasy, it translates into the story and I use it.
For Glory Days, I actually spent time in Asbury Park to get the feel for the place. Just seeing it wasn't enough. I walked the boards, went up and down the streets and marked the locations of churches, of the beach to some of the old hotels, the width of the streets, the areas further away from the downtown and the ocean. And I used these in my story.
It helped that Asbury Park was rather run down and had been a beautiful place forty years ago. That added to the character of the city, for the city was a major character in the story.
England was another terrific setting and I'd been there. In fact, two of my stories take place in England and I could probably write a dozen more about the place. The countryside is vastly different from the US. Maybe New England comes a little close, but not by much. The size of the towns, the fields surrounding the towns, the smallness of the cities and the age of the buildings all had to be included in the story because it played an integral part in the plot. A good memory and lots of personal photographs also came into play...helped me remember the feel of the places I went and had my characters visit.

So, I live in Central Jersey. I live in the worst part of the township, normally referred to as the armpit of Bridgewater. Before we moved here, I'd had occasion to teach several students in the area in their homes and the homes were rather poor and neglected. This truly used to be the armpit of the town. But all things change. Young people who needed a home and had not enough money to move to a better area bought here and within two years had fixed up their small houses and the neighborhood got better, a tiny bit more affluent. The nature of the inhabitants might have changed from the types who lived here forty years ago. The roads still are crummy and the township has done little to fix the area, but eventually, they'll run out of hilltop streets to pave and they'll have to spend money here.
This used to be more fascinating. There were bikers riding up and down the streets all hours of the night. Fast cars zooming up the steep road and slamming on the brakes when the road stopped. The family who live at the top of the road had to put up reflectors to keep drunks from driving onto their property and into their house. That has happened a few times that I know of. And it's part of the character of this section of town.
Rough and ready. Gunshots in the middle of the night. A train whistle wailing to clear the tracks or to announce to the repair station half mile away that it was coming in for awhile. Who knows? But that sound in the night would be stunning for a heroine who hadn't a clue about the area to hear. And to worry her. Or to make her draw closer to the hero.

The setting should be a major part of the story. It should conjure up places in the minds of the reader, bring up memories if possible or be vivid enough to make memories for the reader. It should be dark and dreary at times, dusty and dry, steamy and intense if it applies and cool and refreshingly beautiful as a change of pace. It is as important to the story as the hero and heroine because they cannot exist in a vacuum.
None of us live in windowless rooms. There's a pulse to the outside world and that pulse should reverberate in where we put our characters. Let the outside world breathe, too.

Most men would have given up the ghost by now. They would have seen that one man, one outsider, had taken over the imagination of the few and beguiled them into thinking that there was only one choice for candidate.
Hah.
In fact, that is what happened. The field of democratic hopefuls was up to 15 or so and whittled down far too quickly. Quitters. That's what they were. They found the going a little tough and they quit. Instead of fighting for what they really wanted.
All this leads me to believe they really didn't want the nomination.

But a woman still wants it. Still can taste the ultimate and wants it with all her might. She hasn't given up. Out of all those who quit too soon, who gave up...who would you want to run for the presidency? A quitter? Or somebody riding high on a delusion?

I almost think someone has organized this campaign to find the only candidate that a republican can beat.

But, the lady is still in there. Gosh, I hope she sticks with it to the end. She's showing the old tie guys what it means to fight for what she wants. And what most people really want in a president. A person with experience, knowledge and grit.

Yeah, I have never mentioned anything political in my blog. I didn't want to , didn't want to alienate anybody. But this has to point out to those who are completely oblivious as to what is going on that I have seen the emperor and he has no clothes on.


From Old Time Fairy Tales...I have the original.

Last night I managed to catch the last half of the Beatrix Potter movie starring Renee Zellweger. (sorry about the spelling)
The first half was probably full of angst and animation of her Peter Rabbit characters and her battle with her parents for self-control. I doubt I missed much of that. Her romance with Ewan MacGregor, as Victorian as it was, I guess I didn't miss much since they only kissed once, and I saw that.
But when she left London and moved to the Lakes District, oh, my! I was there! I remembered how beautiful it was!!! Had we not been on a tour, we would have checked out her cottage. If what they showed in the film was her actual farm, oh, my, it was beautiful.
She bought out 4000 acres of land and donated it to the people of England as a preserve.
She was filthy rich from her charming little farm animal books.

But more important than the Lakes District and the beautiful scenery was the fact that she couldn't stop writing, even when she was down in the dumps over Ewan kicking the bucket before they even got to announce their engagement.
At the end of the film was a note that she eventually after 8 years married this lawyer she had known since childhood. I hope she found happiness with him.

I don't even know the proper name for the movie. I'll look it up.
Miss Potter.

My website is dead. It has been pirated and awaits Karyn's gentle ministrations to come up again.

It's been well over a week.

Not that there was anything terrific on it, but the appearances were there and somebody still might want to come to the event in Spring Lake. I will try to repost the information here. Later. After my brain is functioning clearly.

The senior horror is upon Elyse's friends.
Nobody knows what the hell to do.
Nobody knows what the hell they're going to do after graduation.
I remember it well.

Actually, so few of E's compatriots have made it through all four years. So many kids who went to the local community college dropped out or just couldn't cut it. They're hanging around, doing jobs at the mall or looking for work, aimless, moneyless, without a clear course of action.

It's tough.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Sucks to be them.

Yesterday I saw a buzzard eating a dead possum in the middle of the road.
I realize that's what they do, they scavenge, they eat rotting flesh, they keep the highways and byways clean, but really! It was gross to see that huge yellow beak tearing into the poor possum.

Made me think of Pogo.
Made me think "we have met the enemy and he is us".

Made me think that in some sick way, the death of the possum by automobile, probably late at night since they are nocturnal, was going to keep the buzzard alive. Actually, I do believe it was a turkey vulture, but buzzard sounds better. You think vultures and you think of them circling some guy and his poor horse stuck out in the desert, dying of thirst. The only water is an alkali pool and it will kill him and the horse quicker than dying of thirst.

Buzzards perform a service.
But since they're so godawful ugly, nobody keeps them around as pets. Nobody raises pet buzzards in cages because they can't sing. Nobody keeps the feathers or uses buzzard feathers in beautiful hats.

No one writes poems to buzzards. So, I think it is my duty to do so.

Behold the lowly buzzard!
A righteous, efficient bird.
It's song is a squawk
It's bigger'n a hawk,
It likes its martinis shaken, not stirred.

The clean-up man of the desert,
the eater of decaying meat.
Was there ever a handier flyer
To swoop up some trash on the street?

Oh bird of great wingspan!
Oh assistant to world entropy!
Please stay away from my humble home
I've done my best to immortalize you
I've written your very own poem.
Now, like the bluebird and skylark
You've gotten your mark
Fly on, great buzzard, fly on!


Okay, so there is no rhyme and the meter sucks, but it is a poem and it is dedicated to the buzzard, so it is what I set out to do.




Walt Kelly's comic possum, Pogo, asking the question we all need the answer to. I be Pogo would never jump off a bridge if 10,000 other possums did so.

Sometimes, a person can get a little too big for his/her britches. You're sailing high, having accomplished something not too many others have done. You get praise. You get promoted, you get money for a job well done. You start thinking you're pretty important in the scheme of things.

Then you see something like this and you learn what real power is.

And you start feeling smaller and smaller. A little closer to where you actually fit in the larger scheme of things...like the world.

No one can outdo this.

Herb must be feeling a little better. He asked me if I wanted hot dogs for lunch.
Bleah.
Hot dogs on a good day, maybe.
But it's rainy and grey outside and that matches the way I feel inside.

Normally, I am not a gloomy person.
I'm tired. I have work to do in the house and flowers to plant outside, but the flowers will have to wait because I have to get the bloody death's head weeds out of the garden.
I can't kneel too well.
It's nasty chilly outside.
More excuses?

I have two more loads of laundry to do, possibly three.
I want to hear from the girls about what's going on today, espccially from Elyse who has some sort of presentation to carry out for some kind of scientific types somewhere. I can't find any mention of it other than what she's told me and her IM away message says "sigma pi". So I looked up Sigma Pi and found that it is a national physics fraternity.

She's geoscience, not physics, though she has taken physics. Dan is doing the talking, she's doing the standing there by the poster while people look at it. They both did the work on the presentation, he got stuck with speaking.
Elyse hates speaking in public.
That's why she had a radio show.

Go figure.

Karyn's concert last night was terrific. She came to find us and was so happy that Herb made the effort to come, wheelchair and wound and all. These ups and downs I don't get.
The only time she's really happy is when she's singing. Where can she get a job where she sings all the time? Be a teacher. Work summers at amusement parks? Nah, those jobs go to the theater arts majors, not the voice majors.

I'm still praying. I seem to be praying all the time. I dunno, does "oh, my GOD" count as a full prayer or just one of those ejaculations like "bless you" or "sweet Jesus in heaven" type things. If you add those into the prayers, I really am praying a good 3/4 of the time.

And, after all this time since I made my confirmation, I certainly hope they've come up with a better word than ejaculations for whatever it is those little phrases are.
Good God!

Nobody could say that with a straight face any more.
Certainly not me.

(On a different note, my mother suggested that somebody write a book about a Moslem woman, make it a love story. Now, that would be a real trick or treat.)

The pit keeps getting deeper.
I don't like this, but I'll fight my way through for everyone else who is concerned.

I didn't dig the pit, but I sure as hell am not going to remain in it much longer.
I am not made that way.

Herb had his surgery.
It went okay, except for the drastic blood pressure drop that made him look like death warmed over. They put extra fluid in his drip and did something else to get him back to normal.

Then Karyn had a blowout. Right before an exam. I pray she's doing better now that she's actually IN the exam. Now, here's the thing--the teacher never gave back any of her papers. She has no clue what grades she's going into the exam with. I'm sorta praying in two different directions tonight.

But pray I will. I don't have any other options to do on my own, I guess it's time for the BIG GUNS.

I've stumbled into a foxhole in the middle of an operating room.

At least I'm alone in here.

Tomorrow Herb goes to have that hernia that he coughed on himself taken care of at the hospital.
I'm not totally nuts about this particular hospital, considering a friend once had a television set fall on her in her room there, and oh, by the way, did I mention it is closing its doors in August?

I worry about him.
He worries about him, too, at times. At times enough that he made a will last night and today he filed what type of benefits he and I will get from his pension. If he books out, I will still be entitled to some of it. That doesn't cheer me one bit.

It shouldn't. Not really. Thinking about mortality sucks. Seeing everybody looking so old and decrepit, that doesn't help at all, either. Feeling pain with every step on uneven ground, being unable to crawl around the floor to clean up stuff, trying to get up and feeling as if every bone in your body was crumbling...yes, this getting old shit sucks.

When Elyse and her friends worry about their futures, graduating from college wondering where their lives are going to go from here...I have to laugh. They're just starting out on the biggest adventure. They have about 20 years in which to prove themselves before they start feeling time crimping their style.

Ghost Hunters is on tonight. I don't know whether I should watch it or not, considering my current state of mind.

There shouldn't be atheists in foxholes or operating rooms, no matter what some people may think.