I was waxing nostalgic about the Scholastic Book Club a few weeks ago. I’m starting to pare down my enormous book collection and I discovered how many of those wonderful Scholastic books I still own. Don’t Look and It Won’t Hurt, a cautionary tale of teen pregnancy by Richard Peck. Deenie, a cautionary tale about scoliosis and the risks of vanity, by the incomparable Judy Blume. The eerie Summer of Fear, a cautionary tale about letting strangers into your home, by Lois Duncan. We liked our cautionary tales back in the late 70s.
I also found a book called Test Yourself: A Career Quiz Book by Gordon P. Miller. I couldn’t find a picture of the book cover online, but it’s a serious little paperback with blue stripes and yellow (cautionary?) lettering. It includes a series of writing assignments and quizzes, designed to (presumably) help the average pre-teen figure out what to do with the rest of her life.
I took my little Career Quiz Book very seriously, filling in the various portions as Mr. Miller directs. The opening assignment is called “This is My Life.” Mr. Miller tells the 12 year old me to “Imagine that you are now 60 years old and you have lived the kind of life you have always wanted to live… On the following page, write your life story.”
So, for your amusement, here is my life story as I imagined it twenty-nine years ago:
When I graduated from college I became a writer. The first year was hard but within 2 and 1/2 years I wrote my first novel. It became a best seller very quickly. This inspired me to write and illustrate a children’s mystery. At 27 I married and continued writing everything from drama to comedy. I became a very accomplished author and artist, for I began illustrating all of my own work. At 45 I took up painting. Occasionally I’d write a child’s book or short novel but I concentrated on my paintings that were very quickly sold. I retired at 59 happy and healthy.
I was surprised at the comments about art-- I don’t remember being that interested in pursuing it at that age. Oddly enough, in the last year or so I’ve contemplated taking art classes. I’m four years early. I also got married four years earlier and wrote my first book four years later than my younger self predicted. I am far from a best selling author, but I do write “everything from drama to comedy.” I don’t know what “retiring” at 59 means, but I think I was trying to fit everything in before the requisite age 60. Notice I didn’t mention children-- I didn’t want any then. College and writing, those were my priorities. I don’t even really remember wanting to get married-- likely I threw that in because it was the expected thing to do.
My Career Quiz Book doesn’t hold any real surprises, other than the interest in pursuing art as a career. My main goals were being a writer, expressing my creativity and maintaining my freedom. Not much has changed-- and I think I accomplished the big goals. I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer and while the path I’ve taken may not have led to the wild success I imagined for myself as a child, it has been rewarding.
Thanks, Mr. Miller. It’s nice to have your book around as a touchstone to my past.
My wallet was stolen on Thursday. I’ve repeated that phrase several dozen times in the past few days and I still can’t really wrap my mind around it. My wallet was stolen out of my purse while I was in the cafe at Barnes & Noble. I had wanted a change of scenery for my writing day. Big mistake.
I know the time frame when it happened and two possible ways it happened. That still doesn’t make it any easier to understand. Truth is, I didn’t really believe my wallet had been stolen until I got home and had a message from my bank asking me to call them about unusual activity on my account. Then, all of the other possibilities became wishful thinking: That I dropped it somewhere in the bookstore and someone would return it. That I left it at the counter at the cafe and the barista I spoke to didn’t realize a coworker had put it in back. That I put it in my messenger bag and-- even though I dumped my bag out twice-- I somehow missed it. That, even if it had been stolen, the thieves were only after the cash and my wallet would be recovered. No, none of those happened. Someone reached into my purse, took my wallet and went shopping. They did some serious shopping, too-- ten thousand dollars worth-- and had probably already dumped my credit cards (along with everything else) long before my banks and credit card companies put blocks on the cards.
I’m still working to resolve what I can. Everything was in that wallet-- multiple IDs, credit cards, debit cards, $80 (more than I usually carry, but I’m going on a trip soon and tucked it away for expenses), even my (I know, I know) social security card. It will take some time to replace what can be replaced and change account numbers, update bill pay information, etc. I’ll also be checking my credit reports regularly to make sure my identity isn’t stolen, as well. I don’t have the luxury of telling myself, “That won’t happen.” The cash is just a loss, as is the cost to replace my driver’s license-- I naively believed that if you had a driver’s license stolen it would be replaced for free. I had some things in my wallet that can’t be replaced-- movie ticket stubs for recent movies I’ve seen (I’ve been collecting my ticket stubs since I was a teenager) along with a free movie ticket; a couple of pictures and notes; a couple of gift cards with a few dollars left on each; a calling card Jay and I have been using for at least ten years that has time left on it; probably a few things I won’t remember until I go looking for them.
The thing is, I really don’t care about the credit cards or even the ID. It’s a hassle, but those things can be replaced. Yeah, I have good credit and obviously I have enough credit to make for a thief’s dream shopping spree. They bought nicer stuff than I own-- hell, the sum total of their loot is about twice what my car is worth. I don’t care much about things or I wouldn’t have had any credit they could steal. I blame myself-- I was careless, I carry too much stuff in my wallet, I trust people. Maybe that last one is the biggest problem. The one thing I can’t replace and will miss the most after this experience is the belief that people are basically good. Once upon a time, I would have gladly argued that point until I was hoarse. Now, I’m not so sure what I believe. Two things I’ve heard a lot in the past few days are, “Don’t take it personally.” and “It happens all the time.” Is that really the world I live in? Wow. Where have I been?
I withdrew some cash from the bank on Friday (using my passport for ID) and bought a few things. The first thing I bought was my new driver’s license-- I look sad in the picture, I think. I went to Target and bought a new wallet-- it’s exactly like the one that was stolen, just a different color. I bought some peanuts for the squirrels, bananas for the raccoons, some comfort chocolate for myself. The only things in my new wallet right now are my shiny new driver’s license with the sad-looking picture and fifteen dollars and some change. My purse is lighter, for the moment. My heart is another story.
Jay deployed April 7, so today marks the half-way point of this deployment. It’s been three long months, to be sure. We’re on the downhill side now, with a rendezvous in Florida next weekend to look forward to. We’ve done this deployment thing so many times before it’s just something we do, but this one-- at least for me-- has been harder than previous deployments.
This time around, I haven’t really had the support I’ve had in the past. I don’t have the “day job” I had during the last deployment to give me a connection to the civilian world and this ship doesn’t have the networking/support mentality of previous ships to give me a connection to the Navy world. My friends-- and I don’t have as wide a circle of friends as I’ve had on previous deployments, for a variety of reasons-- the ones I’d expect to be supportive, don’t quite get it. Correction: they don’t get it at all, even if they want to (which some do and some don’t). I’m the nurturer and it befuddles some people when the nurturer needs nurturing (not that the nurturer ever asks for help, that would go against the very nature of being a nurturer, right?). My fabulous and inspiring writer friends are at a distance and e-mail is no substitute for that face-to-face connection that I sometimes crave.
There are literally days when the only people I see are the ones who serve me coffee and the fact that they know what I drink and often have it ready before I even get out of my car doesn’t really make them friends-- or does it? Most of the time, I do okay. I have my schedules and my routine and I thrive on having the flexibility to do what I want. So if the phone doesn’t ring on the 4th of July (when every year previous my backyard has been cookout central), then I have no one to blame but myself for making the wrong choices. It gets lonely sometimes, this writer/military wife life, and I don’t really expect anyone to understand what that means. But, you know, sometimes it would be nice if they tried.
Three months down, three to go. I’ll be just fine.
The woodpecker who flies in to eat granola so he’ll have the energy to peck on my house later…
The blind squirrel who prefers peanuts and will only scamper off if I make enough noise…
The raccoons who drop by nightly for bananas and peanut butter sandwiches (with two new babies in tow)…
What brings you peace?
Why is that Sunday so often brings out the melancholy in me? I’ve been trying to fight through it today by doing the things I really don’t like doing: cleaning, laundry and revisions on a writing project I just want to finish so I can move on to more interesting things. If I’m going to feel sad, I might as well relate my mood to things I don’t like, right? That’s my thinking, anyway. That, and I had things that needed to get done today regardless of my mood.
Sometimes, I like my Sunday melancholia. I’ll curl up with the newspaper and comfort food, an 80s movie on in the background and I’ll just be happy being blue. If that makes any sense. Sunday is usually a non-working day for me, so it satisfies my slothful nature to just wallow in the blues… for one day, anyway. I don’t like it if it happens too often. It irritates me to be lazy for too long, so I see these blue Sundays as my lazy days. I’m practical like that. But I couldn’t be lazy today.
Tomorrow will be better-- the blues will have passed (hopefully) and I will feel pretty good for having gotten some work done today. But right now… I’m just feeling blue.
Life. Love. Writing. Friendship.
Sex. Books. Movies. Travel. Politics. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Rants. Raves. Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Some names have been changed, some stories have been embellished. Thanks for stopping by and beware of the dog. Read more...
