Dealing With Your Challenges

Through a connection on Twitter, I was asked to submit a list of books on a subject of my choosing for FlashlightWorthyBooks (http://www.flashlighworthybooks.com), which I did. Yesterday I received the posting which will be submitted to several internet sites in a few days. I thought you might like a heads up on it right now. My subject is “Dealing With Your Challenges” and I picked a number of books that were written about some remarkable people. You may have a preview by going to: http://www.flashlightworthybooks.com/Dealing-With-Your-Challenges-Books/469.

To name just a few, there is the diary of Anne Frank the Helen Keller story, and of course the history behind Barack Obama. These people come from all different parts of the world. I’ve included a story about a Chicana childhood, a child from the Dublin slums, and an American child from a severly dysfunctional family. It doesn’t matter where you come from, geographically or ethnically, or what the type of challenge you have, their stories are an inspiration to all of us.

I think about some people who may have been dealt a bad hand who use that as an excuse for their bad behavior, or use it to explain why they have chosen not to at least try to overcome their adversity. They somehow are comfortable to be a lifelong victim. In my mind there is no excuse for that.

Perhaps these people may never find a way to either deal with or overcome their problems to the degree the people in my list have done. But I so admire those that accept their situation and get on with it, that is, to do everything in their power make it better for themselves and everyone around them.

 

To Stay or Not To Stay …

I got a phone call from a friend who told me her daughter was going to get a divorce. She was so distraught that I thought she might start to cry as she was telling me her daughter’s story.  Fortunately she was able to swallow her tears and talk to me with only several cracks in her voice.

Her daughter and son-in-law had been together over fifteen years and although she knew there were problems in their marriage, she never dreamed that they would divorce. They had two children whom they both adored. They lived in a beautiful home, belonged to a country club, and seemed to be financially well off. When they announced their intention to divorce, their friends were shocked.

My friend wasn’t shocked; she knew they weren’t happy. She’d seen them live sort of separate lives, as if they each were single people who just bunked in the same house and took care of the same children. Over the years they began to spend less and less time with one another. Until they moved into that time span when one of the spouses began to wonder who their mate was spending time with. Her daughter reached that point in her life when she had to decide whether to stay or not to stay. She decided not to stay.

My friend couldn’t undertand it. She had know so many people in her own generation that stayed in exactly the same kind of marriages. They weren’t good, but they were comfortable. The children grew up with both a mothers and fathers in the home. They didn’t have to explain themselves to their friends. And, shock of all shocks, my friend knew people who had been at each others throats during their mid-life years, who in their advanced years had become good friends and even felt love for one another.

“Why not just hang in there?” she asked her daughter. Her daughter looked at her mother as if she were crazy.

“I deserve better than that,” was her answer. Oh, I didn’t tell you that she is a member of the me generation.

I understand where each one of them is coming from. I think they are both right. There is no one answer to that question, to stay ot not to stay? Each person has to answer that question for themselves, no matter to which generation they belong.

I Am One of Those Flag-waving Americans

Today is the 4th of Juy and I am in Ojai, California, a little town of about 8,000 people. Regardless of their small size, Ojai has parade every year which I attend almost regularly. I missed last year so I forced myself to get out there today becuase, bottom line, I enjoy it so much. It isn’t a great parade in my opinion. I personally love colorful marching bands with flashy uniforms and huge drums that bang loudly and cymbals that almost smash your eardrums. There was none like that this morning.

I guess this town is too small or all that hoopla, but I’ll tell you why this parade was so great. It’s the people in it that make it so special. All of them are out there making a statement about how much this country means to them, especially the newcomers to the good ol’ USA, myself included.

After the floats of local clubs and business with kids on haystacks waving flags, a number of cars with the living veterans of all the wars of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries passed to the cheers of onlookers. My favorite were the old guys who could still tell us about World War II. But what impressed me the most was a rag tag group of people from India with a sad-looking large, home made float, garrish in decoration playing their country’s music, dressed in Buddhist or Hindu garb.  Looking like they were driving down a street in Delhi, they were waving the stars and stripes with enthusiasm, wishing all the onlookers a “Happy 4th of July.”

A group of Western cowboys, making their horses dance like the Lippizaners in Vienna, followed. And then there were the Aztecas, dressed in bright and shiny costumes as might be seen in a movie set in Mexico some hundreds of years ago, danced by proudly. Oh, yes, they also were waving flags and wishing us a Happy 4th!!”

Of course, there were shiny old cars that belonged to a Model A Ford club and another that were members of a Corvette Club that I loved to see.  But it was the patriotism that was expressed in that parade by the newcomers to our land that hit the mark with me. You see, I am one of those newcomers. I am one of those flag-waving Americans who loves this country as much as, if not more so, than anyone else in it.

Woman’s Place, Then and Now

I often think back about how my mother had to fight for her place in the sun. If World War II hadn’t happened, she probably would have lived out her life in Vienna working on her needlepoint and meeting her friends at the city’s famous coffee houses, gossiping about their friends. For all of those ladies, their husbands were in charge of them, their welfare, their actities, and what they were to think and to believe.

When the war changed those circumstances for my mom, turning her into a business woman who started to think for herself , she no longer wanted to ask permission from my dad before making any kind of move.  The inevitable locking of horns between my parents had to take place and is described in detain in Becoming Alice.

We women have come a long way since those times with the work of feminists. Also, economic conditions have driven women into the work force where they have gained a much more equal footing with men. But today, I was surprised by a current situation that makes me question how far we have really come.

I opened my internet browser on AOL this morning and there was an article about the fact that at Winbledon, women tennis players  were given the more desirable center court for their matches based on their “attractiveness.” What happened to the choice being made for their ability to play tennis? Do you now have to look “sexy” to get a spot on center court?

Ouch! I object! I felt I was being open minded when I accepted their rule making the players wear white in the tournament. Okay, that’s a throwback, but okay. I have no problem with the decision not to play on Sunday. I understand. But getting Center Court because you look like a fashion model. I don’t think so. That’s not right with me.

Sending Our Culture Forward

When I was little, I used to hear the grownups say like father, like son or she’s just like her mother. The one I liked the best was the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Those remarks were made whenever the two family members had one trait or another in common, such as a son liking to hunt or fish just like his father, or a girl loving clothes or parties just like her mother. It seemed that the saying about the apple and the tree was reserved for a son who seemed to have strayed from what was expected of him and finally after some time lapse, he returned to the fold.

But when I think about it based on my own experience, it is more likely that the father and son, or the daughter and mother, have more dissimilar traits than the one that puts them into the same mold. Sometimes a mother loves fashion and high style clothes while her daughter chooses not to compete on that level and decides to look like a hippie or a punk or a rocker–while each is the carbon copy of the other in looks.

I’ve seen religious parents have children who became atheists. I’ve seen very social parents have children who are introverts and loners. I’ve seen young intellectuals come from working parents who have no use for the arts or culture. And on it goes. Obviously not all apples fall right under their trees. Perhpas the winds of change blow them in some other direction and sometimes that direction is sending our cuture forward.

Self-esteem vs.Self-confidence vs. Self-assurance

It’s been all about Michael Jackson on the news ever since he died. The first reaction was shock. The second was the curiosity about what happened. And the third was an outpouring of grief. There were pictures upon pictures of people rushing to his home, to the hospital, to his star on Hollywood Boulevard leaving flowers and candles, while shedding tears. Tears!! Why tears? I don’t understand. I think I’d cry if I lost a family member, or a close friend, or maybe someone with whom I could identify in any way. But Michael Jackson? I don’t think so. What I do feel is pity for the life he lived.

It has come out now that it is very probable that he died of an overdose of demerol, or perhaps another drug or combination of drugs. Why? Why is it that someone with so much talent, so much success, so much money and adulation would need to take drugs? Is it possible that he had no self-esteem when he began his career. Is it possible that he had no self-confidence in himself and doublted that he could perform at a level that was expected of him. Did he need to face these challenges with the help of the stimulus of drugs? Did they make him feel a mile high?

I think that his attempt to transform himself from a black man to a feminized white person was his attempt to get away from the negative self-image that he had of himself. The remarkable thing is that a man who seemed to have so many gifts didn’t have the gift of self-assurance. I think it is that quality that comes after you think you might be able to perform in your chosen field (self-esteem), after you have tested yourself and know you can perform (self-confidence), and then can face the world with self-assurance (accepting yourself for who you are, regardless of how your perform at any given time.)

Perhaps we mere mortals without any talent find it easier to accept ourselves for who we are without resorting to  such powerful, artificial, reality changing means.

What goes Into Making a Friend

I got an invitation the other day from a woman who is supposed to be my friend, yet I don’t really consider her on that level. Not that she isn’t really nice. She is. Along with that she is intelligent, attractive and charming. What’s missing? Well, I guess the bottom line is that we have nothing in common. No, that isn’t it. We do have some things in common: our social status, our ethnicity, our political views, we are approximately the same age and even our kids are about the same age.

But then our different life style and values trump the rest. I hate to shop; she loves to shop. I wear minimal jewelry; she is loaded up. I dress casually; she is a fashion plate, even at a barbeque. I stay out of my adult kids lives as best I can; she is a major player in her kids affairs. I spend time being active in sports; she goes to luncheons. She is nice though. Why can’t I elevate her to being my friend?

I resolved that two people really had to had some thing in common, even if it is only one thing. In my case I have a close friend who I grew up with, a close friend who I went to school with, a close friend with whom I shared the ups and owns of raising children. I have friends with whom I play tennis, with whom I travel, with whom I do my writing, and with whom I feel accepted, strengths and weaknesses combined. With each we have something in common. My God, what would I do without my friends.

Learning the Internet

I’m expecting a friend to come and spend the weekend with us and I was going to write this blog about relationships. In the meantime, I was going to do some catch up work on the internet. But first, I must tell you how excited I am about the upgrade on my website. Now, finally all of it is in the same font, a flaw that I didn’t even see until my webmaster pointed it out to me. The other thing he did was to post all the future events I have booked and, even more exciting, build two new pages into the site.

So, while all that is happening I went to a talk about how to make the internet work for you by someone who is so far ahead of me that he might as well have been talking in Chinese. Remember, I have just gotten a handle of the meaning of RSS and after spending a zillion hours on learning that, decided not to use it on my website. Anyway, this internet guru lectured us at his talk about how important it was to not only be on the top social networking sites, but also to get on Digg, Stumbleupon, Del.ici.os, Reddit, etc. etc. And ere I am having my hands full with about six to seven sites already. Sometimes I forget which ones I am on.

I feel a little like all the ducks in a row at a shooting gallery in a carnival. No matter how fast the first duck moves, the second duck never will be able to catch up. I’m afraid I am that second duck. The other thought I had was about all the friends I have who play bridge. Bridge, day after day, hour after hour, all in the hope that they won’t get Alzheimer’s, or that they will get it maybe three months later. Well, I don’t have to play bridge. I have my internet to figure out.

Don’t have time for a “relationships blog” today. Perhaps next time. But…I noticed that now there are more than three hundred of you out there who have read my blog!!! Who are you? I have only gotten 7 comments. How about saying hello? Tell me if you like my blog babble or not. I can take it.

Talking to Myself

I’ve been told that the best way for me to marketBecoming Alice is to join a bunch of social network sites and let other people do it for me. Those were the same people who wanted to help me by charging a ton of money to get me started to social network. Being a depression baby, my first gut response always is can’t I do this thing on my own? Perhaps if it would have only been a little bit of money I would have jumped at the chance. But, Holy Moses, the prices were astronomical.

I think the reason I haven’t posted blogs more often is that I am in the throws of figuring this thing out on my own.  The first thing I did is register with so many sites that I didn’t learn anything about any of them. Luckily I could eliminate My Space right away because I was invited to “connect” with someone I thought to be an out and out pervert. Several of the other sites seemed not to be favorable for what I needed and I got rid of them one by one. Now, I am down to three sites: Twitter, Facebook, and LinkedIn and three others that I wish I had more time for: Shelfari, AuthorsDen, and the Librarything. Some other fun stuff is on You Tube and Flickr.

Of course, I also set up this blog on WordPress all by myself! At first I thought I was talking to myself on all of those sites. The pundits said it takes time, like five or six months. I waited patiently and found out they were right. Little by little, I’d get an invitation to “be a friend” or be asked to “connect” with someone. I’m very picky about my friends so that took a litlle time. But now I do have a handful of them on most of my sites.

As for my WordPress blog, I had only received three or four Comments and thought I was really talking to myself the whole time. Then I discovered that I can check my Blog Stats and found out that almost three hundred people had viewed my blog. Gee, why didn’t you guys ever say hello? Send me a comment. Tell me what you think. I’d love to know I’m not talking to myself.

Advice-Who Should I Believe?

I remember back when I was just beginning to listen to the food gurus and the effects of certain kinds of food on your coronaries, your weight, your longevity, etc. We were told to stay away from trans fats which is still a no-no and encouraged to eat fruits and vegetables…still an accepted rule. But then I remember being told, emphatically, not to eat shrimp. Caring about my health, I didn’t … except to cheat every now and then. A short time later, we were told not to drink coffee. That was a hard one for me. I couldn’t really follow that one too well. And then, fast forward a bit of time, shrimp all of a sudden became okay. And coffee was also allowed. Bless the hundred year old woman who, answering someone who asked her what she attributed her longevity too, replied, “Strong, black coffee!”

Now it is now and I am busy marketing my memoir Becoming Alice and I have been advised by so many prople in this book business that I should get a presence on the internet by joining a bunch of social networking sites and writing a blog and articles. People will find me and buy a bunch of books. As is my custom I obeyed dutifully since I’ve learned I’m a pretty good writer but don’t know squat about marketing.

I was getting along pretty well until this week when I read some articles, through the LinkedIn site, that state blogging isn’t worth anything and social networking sites are not much better. I was just about to give up on the sites when I started to get some action going here and there. I thought about giving up blogging, but then I discovered a fair number of people are actually ready my words. Besides, I think I already told you I like writing.

So, the bottom line is: I eat shrimp. I drink (much) coffee. And they’ll never take chocolate and writing away from me.