What Have You Learned This Year?

And just in time for Mother's Day . . .

Visit my Mother's Web AudreyFrankAuthor

My mother posted the following on her blog today. She is an author and a role model and taught us we could do anything at any age. Health issues have slowed her down this year - but not so much with her writing, as she has a new novella on Amazon. But it has slowed her down to getting out of the house and being active to do the things she likes.

As I approach my eighty-seventh birthday, I find myself asking have I learned anything this past year? Yes, I have – patience. Patience to endure pain and not feel sorry for myself. Humility and gratitude for the friends who have had the guts to stick by me even when I knew they didn't want to listen to another gripe. My best friend, Claire, (my adopted sister) should get a medal for bravery in the face of turmoil. I have also reached that point in my life when I realize: who matters, who never did. I have stopped worrying about people from my past. There's a reason they aren't in my future. I can never be the person I was, but I can make the effort to be the best I am at this point in my life. Thanks to my daughters Barbara and Pam. They are the joy of my life. Thank you. Lord, for carrying me through the worst of times. If I'm lucky, I'll still be around to celebrate next year.

I kid her we are living in parallel universes. My health has slowed me down this year, I am getting ready to launch a picture book this weekend, and I have hip replacement surgery scheduled for next week. I am out of sync with my normal life, too. It is so hard to walk. Everyone tells me surgery will make me a new person again. I hope so.

We are both learning patience, although, me not so much!

Last week I chatted with a realtor to let her know I want to sell my house as soon as I have had time to get on my feet after surgery and physical therapy. It is not a listing -just a heads up my house could be for sale. For some reason knowing I have put those vibes out to the universe makes it easier for me to relax and do what I have to do the next weeks. If it is meant to be, well, so be it. Someone knows I can be had - well, my house can be had! I am working on what needs to be done the week before surgery; letting the universe know I am ready to sell my house and finding the right flattering attire for physical therapy. I don't own sweat pants or T-shirts for working out. I found the cutest leggings (large size so I can slip in and out without trouble) and tops at Marshalls this weekend so I can be the PT fashionista. As I laughed with a friend. I am not vain. I don't think I look that great - but I know how bad I can look, and prefer not to share that with the world. In pain in pink sounds easier to deal with, too.

My Chinese fortune cookie the first of the year told me all I needed to know. My dreams will come true by the end of this year!

But what is that dream, exactly. I am fickle and it changes with regularity. Right now, as I sit and visualize the days ahead, I see a charming farmhouse, an hour outside of Atlanta, on an acre or two of land (just like the farmhouse in my novel, Danger In Her Words).  A house that will work for me and with me. A writing center with classes, book club meetings, rooms and a cottage to rent to writers who want a picturesque retreat at a nominal fee for their writing getaway. Rooms for friends to visit. A place my mom can move too when she is ready to leave St. Augustine.  A safe haven for my six dogs. It is something I can do, not outside the realm of possibilities, even though my few pain meds let me see this dream in Technicolor!

We all have dreams. Miss April in Paris, one of my dogs from a local shelter, dreams of visiting Paris, the city that shares her name. Her diary, A Dog Dreams of Paris, will be available on Amazon later this month. It is a charming picture book designed by PD King Design. Not a children's picture book, but a book for those who dream at any age.

I hope you will check out my mother's website and books. She writes romantic novellas about people that could be your neighbors! Unlike me, the writer with dogs!

The years pass so quickly. Some we have control of, some control us. I think my mother hit it in her post. I can make the effort to be the best I can at this point in my life. As always, she is an inspiration to me to be my best, no matter what, to be thankful for what I have, and, because of her encouragement over all these years, to dream big.

Everyday is an opportunity to learn something new. What have you learned this year? I love to share stories on how we grow!

Rambling as I like to do, I come back to how I started this most - in time for Mother's Day . . . Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Love you.

 

From GoodReads: Barbara Barth's Blog: Dogs, Books, Antiques, Roses - Oh My

I've added a blog to my GoodReads page. Dogs, Books, Antiques, Roses - Oh My.
My first post was added this evening. Just silly ramblings, but that is what I love to do best! Click above and come join me!

From my GoodReads blog:

My dogs are behaving badly this week. I think they are reacting to how preoccupied I've been. Two events are taking place that have me either writing or scratching. I think the scratching is what has the dogs puzzled most. They are used to me sitting for hours at the computer. They are not used to seeing me wiggle about, scratch, and yelp.

1. My blog tour for "Danger In Her Words" with WOW! Women On Writing started May 5th. I've been writing posts for the blog tour and doing a bit of media blitz. So my concentration is focused more than usual. It is amazing how the dogs sit and watch to see when/if I will get up to go to the kitchen and bring them bones. If I move in my chair, six heads jerk up, look around, then sigh and go back to home base. With all the itching going on, I am shuffling more than normal in my chair, which doubly confuses the hounds.

2. I've been working in the garden, planting roses, digging in the dirt. I pulled a few long, three leaf vines off a tall pine tree too. I was quite proud of myself. Until three days later I started to break out on my arms. Poison Ivy. It didn't spread far, but it has a terrible slow burn. The meds make me irritable and a little on edge. The dogs noticed that too. I think I heard little Chloe whisper behind my back to the others . . . perhaps she has fleas.

Seriously, I like to kid about life! My dogs are my best friends. Rescue dogs who rescued me! I'll bet you have dog stories of your own.

It is a great week in spite of the scratching. I am excited about my tour. Women On Writing is the best site to learn and grow. My David Austin rose, planted over a decade ago, is finally blooming its lush delicate pink blossoms, and I'm still planting knock-out roses by my picket-fence. This time cautious about what evil lurks close-by.

My fantasy life is coming true! Dogs, roses, writing, antiques, art, and the best of friends. I am blessed.

Book Talk With Barbara Barth is a blog where I post about other authors dreams, books, and fantasies. Would love to have you join me there.

Write me!

Time To Get Under Control . . . Where Is My List?

 

Do you make lists? I don't.

My late husband always had a little book with him, one that organized his day, plans, and thoughts. I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, never quite sure what I needed to do.

"Write it down." He told me this daily our first years together as a couple. "Make a list. Get a book," and he'd stop writing in his to show me a worn leather folder, the size of a check book, "A day timer."

My reply was always the same. "Who would remind me to look at it." I'd never think to reach in my purse, look on the desk, or do whatever needed to be done to grab it and see what my list for the day was. So I did the next best thing, I placed my list where I would be sure to see it. On the bathroom mirror, on the medicine cabinet above the sink, not a slip of paper, or a post-it, but in lipstick. I'd see it every time I brushed my teeth. I brush my teeth more than the average person I am sure, so I knew I'd see my list without having to search for it. When I completed something, I'd wipe it clean and start over again.

There was some flack with that idea, but he got used to it as I got a bit more organized.

He made lists in Outlook on their calendar and every day a reminder popped up for him on the computer, yet he kept his day timer by his side. If he'd had a cell phone I am sure his calendar would have been full there too.

Me? I am spiraling down in disaster these days with what I am to do and when.

Last spring I did a bit of renovation on the house, replacing the old bathroom fixtures with new ones. The medicine cabinet was the first thing to go. My handyman Mighty Joe hauled if off to the dump. Years of lipstick lists had kept me on track. Did I put in a new medicine cabinet? No. I found an old Eastlake window an antique dealer friend of mine had fitted with a small mirror in the center and had that hung over my sink, where the old cabinet used to be. It is beautiful. You don't put lipstick notes on an antique. So two things became painfully apparent as I brushed my teeth every morning, noon, and night.

1. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with my day, what were the important things to accomplish.
2. I had no idea where my makeup, ibuprofen, and other items were. I no longer had a medicine cabinet.

I adapted. I started sending e-mail lists to myself every night before bed that I'd get first thing in the morning to remind me what I needed to do.  It was a great idea. I slept like a baby. The weight of worry off my mind. The next morning when all my e-mails came in, I'd forget to check the one marked 'list'.

Then one morning while drinking coffee and reading e-mail in Windows Live Mail I looked to the far right side of my monitor. There was a sidebar with a weekly calendar next to the window where I read my messages. It was a light bulb moment.  I could open up the larger calendar, make my lists, and they would show in the sidebar on each day of the week. How difficult could this be? All I had to do was remember to turn my head to the right when I was in my e-mail. I found a small sticky note and put it on my monitor with an important message to myself. Look right when in e-mail.

I know better. You don't write in lipstick on a monitor. It was hard enough finding an old post-it,  but this was as close to my lipstick theory as I could get. The first thing I do every morning, before I brush my teeth, is to check my e-mail. This may work if my note doesn't fly off into the dust bunnies on the floor I keep trying to remember to sweep up.

Yes, I have a cell. Yes it has a calendar. So what is your point?

 

My Hysterical Hysterectomy – Or Surviving Surgery With Six Dogs

Trust me. I promise not to hurt you.

 

   So, my big idea to start off 2014 by kicking it in the ass has a set-back. Surgery is in the cards for me. I’ve actually postponed it, knowing it was lurking out there, figuring if I ignored it, it would go away. I had bigger things to do late 2013, the biggest was completing my novel. I was assured waiting was not a worry as it is preventative surgery and not labeled as anything more than it is. Which is enough in my book. I am sure that down the road I will be happy that this is off my bucket list of things I really never planned, nor wanted to do. In the scheme of things it is a mere bump in the road. It does take a bite out of my favorite chant, no pain, no pain.

    My book will be available on Amazon and Kindle by Valentine’s Day. I’ve given birth to my first work of fiction and am excited. Then three days later I head to the hospital for my surgery. I was given the opportunity of going home at night or staying in the hospital overnight. What made my decision for me? Time. To come home that night I had to be at the hospital at 5:30 am. Seriously? That was harder to get my head around than the fact by the next day a part of me would be gone. So I opted to come in at 10 am and spend the night being catered to in my hospital bed. Which actually made everyone I know happy. No one wants me to go home to my house alone. I live with six dogs and my friends, who have never met my pack, are horrified I will be dealing with dogs as I deal with recovery. To tell you the truth, it worries me too.

    My dogs are my kids and my family. Try to explain to the medical community that you have six dogs, six dogs who are pretty finicky in their routines, six dogs that sleep in bed with me, the smallest, my seven pound Chi insists on curling up on my stomach. And that there are no other humans in the house to help. They don’t get it. I finally looked at the physician’s assistant and put it in words she might get. “It is like I have six babies at home that need to be fed, cleaned up after, and played with.

     “I thought you never had children.” She looked up from her chart.

      Really. She still wasn’t listening. Perhaps in Pre-Op on Monday they’ll get it. I need to know what to expect so I can keep my house in order.

     I have made some preliminary arrangements. My pet sitter will be with my dogs while I am alone in the hospital. They have a slumber party scheduled, I have a quiet night in room number (tbd) whatever. I guess I’ll finally discover what everyone who has spent a night in the hospital knows, it is not quiet or restful. On the bright side, perhaps there will be drugs.

     My medical issues over my life have been minimal. I have had one other surgery. Looking back, a book was paramount at that time too. In 2010 after my big launch party for The Unfaithful Widow, which was a grand fete at a bed and breakfast in Atlanta in honor of Animal Rescue, I ran into my kitchen in my bare feet and slipped on dog pee. After landing hard on my padded butt I realized I’d dislocated my shoulder. It was hard to miss, my left shoulder protruded out so far I got very scared. The hospital is within a sneeze of my house and my neighbor drove me over to the ER. I sat there alone, a small morphine drip, chattering that it was dog pee on my butt, I had not actually peed myself. The drugs took hold while I waited for three hours to see a doctor. In that short time I sold a few books by telling the staff that kept checking on me I had just published my book. If I had only realized there would be an interest, I could have packed a few copies to take with me. But wait, I was in terrible pain! Not only had I dislocated my shoulder, I tore my rotator cuff. I had surgery within the month. My dogs tiptoed on all four paws when I came home from the ER. “Who peed?” My tone was sharp. Their sweet faces told me all I needed to know, I would never know. I better learn to tread lightly or wear shoes.

     So, within a few days of my new book, Danger In Her Words, being released, history will repeat itself. I will have surgery. Easy-peasy I’ve been told. It’s a non-invasive procedure. I am waiting for my list of do’s and don’ts. I am sure top on that list will be, don’t let the dogs sleep with you! And so it will begin. My Hysterical Hysterectomy Recovery. Stayed tuned for the continuing posts if you have the stomach for it!

    On a note, I have a wonderful group of friends that have offered to help. I find it interesting that I am shy about having them in my home to see what life with six dogs entails. I am sure I will get over that as soon as my wimp factor hits.

An Invitation To What????

At the end of the day - it was only an invitation - not a sign from the universe I was ready to go, but a reminder of what I needed to do.



 

       I haven't even had THE BIRTHDAY yet - it is next week - you know, the really, really big one - but the universe is having fun with me I do believe. I'm listening and laughing back.

      If you know me, you know I poke at everything, even serious things. I've found humor and laughter have a way of smoothing over the rough spots. A broken heart can feel the tug of a smile. And I follow that old adage,  laughter is the best medicine. Even dark humor has a healing power, perhaps the best of all healing. Surrounded by sadness if you can make an off the wall joke a ray of light shines in all the murk.

     My caveat for humor, is it is always at my expense, not at another person. I don't make fun of others but I sure do make fun of myself. You are cordially invited to laugh with me as I do this!

    My last BIG birthday, and I categorize big birthdays as stepping stones to the years that make us reflect on life because we are crossing a threshold we've joked about, was my sixtieth. Three months before I hit that milestone, my husband died. So I met age sixty with my widow crown.  I wrote my book on that first year alone - The Unfaithful Widow - a memoir doing all those things I never thought I'd do again. My book, and my adventures that year, were my therapy. I had a choice to let the darkness take over or to find the dark humor in my situation and write my way back to a life of my own. Some days I look at my book, which I self-published in 2010, and think how quirky it is. I sounded like the little engine that could.... I think I can, I think I can. And I did.

     So next week is the big date, my sixty-fifth looms at me.  Three small, minuscule, hardly worth mentioning things happened this week. Three pokes from the universe that tickled my funny bone, and if my funny bone gets tickled, I share.

     1. My primary care physician fired me. I showed up for a routine exam, anxious to try out my new Medicare card, which was effective August lst. Friends of mine, who retired from the same federal agency I retired from, reassured me it was wonderful to have Medicare, especially with my outstanding federal insurance policy as a secondary insurance. My doctor's office - the doctor I really have never liked because when I visit her I leave feeling old, fat, and crazy (that's a story for another time) - informed me they do not take Medicare assignment, I would have to pay up front and be reimbursed by my insurance company.  A life-event about to happen.

     My reply, thinking I stood on firm ground with my excellent insurance coverage, "Then I'll have to find another doctor." I think my chest puffed out about that time, thinking I had the upper hand. A stern nurse looked at me and said "You're fired." Well, not in so many words, but a rule is a rule, and I was booted.  The good news, the universe did what I hadn't been able to do. Make me look for a doctor I might like. 

    2. Later that same afternoon I got my daily snail-mail. A lovely envelope with pale green trees in the background was saved for last. A few bills, a ton of advertisements for Medicare supplements, and then what looked to be an invitation. I was excited to open it and hoped it would be an event I would love to attend.

      "Plan now for your cremation."

      Not what I was expecting but maybe a wake up call?

      Okay. I think that sums up the quality of heath care I might be facing with my new Medicare card if I don't find the right doctor. Yes, universe, I get the message, I will find my new doctor today.

    3. The same batch of mail included an envelope addressed to my late husband. It was stamped boldly on the front, Get out of your time share forever.

      I wanted to call them and ask, "Does this mean I get him back?"


Enjoy your day and remember to laugh! I plan to.

      

    

 

Holy Crap, I Just Got My Medicare Card or Sparkle At Sixty-Five - It's All In Your Attitude

My new mantra for age sixty-five.

My first reaction to filing for Medicare was not a pleasant one. It was a symbol I was getting really old.  I'd ignored AARP for years, but you can't ignore Medicare. Of all people, I knew this better than most. Ten years ago I retired from my job with the federal government, working for Social Security. 

I called my best friend and whined. "What if my Medicare card falls out of my purse while I'm out with a young guy!"

She brought me back to reality. "You haven't dated in months. If you do go out, keep your purse and your mouth zipped."

I filed for Medicare the end of July. My coverage began August lst. For those of you reading this, my birthday is August 21st. Feel free to help me celebrate. But no old age jokes. They are off my radar and have been since I was very young.

The day my card arrived (last week) I looked in the mirror to see if I'd changed overnight. A long critical moment proved what I needed to know. I was exactly the same gal I was the day before, the month before, and actually all the last year, and maybe even a year or two before that! My daily routine of slathering my face with ROC at night paid off, I didn't see any more wrinkles. My lip-gloss shimmered and made my smile and teeth look good (all mine pu-lease, what were you thinking?).  My short hair (which I cut myself and have for twenty years) had that bedroom look I love. I still needed to lose weight. I was still ME!

What I needed was an attitude adjustment so I could put the fear of sixty-five behind me.

Then a close encounter of a romantic nature and a plan for my books gave me the kick in the pants I needed. I also found my word for age 65 to guide me through the year!

              

 S*P*A*R*K*L*E

 

The day I filed for my Medicare card on the phone ended with a perk that made it the best day I'd had in a dog year! (you do the math)

I filed my claim at 1:30. At 7:30 I was making out in the back seat of a car parked at Starbucks with an old boyfriend I dated in the late 1970s. He'd rolled into town to visit family and we had a small window to reconnect. Talk about perfect timing. In a matter of a few hours I went from feeling old to the high of a teenager steaming up windows in a rented car. The back seat was so small we couldn't get into big trouble . . . but passionate kisses were the best prescription for what ailed me that day.

Follow your bliss at any age. That is what I am doing this year. My two books are turning into a reality. A romantic, erotic thriller "Writer Beware" is almost completed and my long talked about sequel to my widow memoir should follow behind.

A new website and blog complete my goal to feng shui my writing portfolio. If you follow me at all, I have too many blogs, too many websites. I plan to simplify with one main blog and website for all my writing this year. We'll see how long that lasts. You know, two dogs eventually led to six. I will never get my old shop merchandise out of my house, because I still buy more. If I get an idea that inspires, a new blog could sneak in. But this blog will be my home base. So I hope you will book mark it and come back to visit.

Then look for Gilbert Street Press to build its business to include book and cover designs for others with my talented sister Pam King at the helm.

When you follow your bliss it doesn't hurt to sprinkle it with glitter. My new word for sixty-five is Sparkle!