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We made a brief stop on the way to Disneyland to show our friend from France Hollywood. It brought back memories of my own. How in the 3rd grade my mother moved us out to Beverly Hills, where we lived … Continue reading
Old dogs hate new tricks…especially the 71 year old female know-it-all variety! Little matter that it might make one’s life simpler and more profitable. The last time I published a paperback, at least the first edition thereof, was in 2005 when CreateSpace was known as BookSurge. I recently revised the interior of DEGREES OF OBSESSION but that doesn’t count.
It took my therapist, who is generally dead on when it comes to my bad habits and peccadilloes, several tries before I believed what he knew to be true, that publishing even paperbacks is absolutely free on CreateSpace (and I’m sure on other sites). He knows because he has published several of his own excellent books on EMDR and related topics. To those whose hearts are beating faster at this moment, YES, I can divulge that he’s my therapist but don’t worry, he can’t divulge that I nor anyone else is his patient, except, now, of course you all know that my 40 years as a practicing psychologist did little to disentangle my own demented brain.
I digress. So good patient that I am, I rushed home, went on the computer and within six, count them SIX hours, had a paperback version of MOTHER TONGUE ready for submission. I admit that I cheated a teensy bit. I had prepared the interior in advance, knowing that some day I might go for the hard copy version in addition to the Kindle version ready for pre-order and release on December 6th. And I used their Cover Creator instead of trying one more time to figure out how the layers function on Photoshop works. Having run the new cover design past my faithful cover critique group, after a few more tweaks, I’ll be ready to hit APPROVE. Stay tuned. Please feel free to add your comments. Unfortunately the Cover Creator for Kindle is different so I’ll have to make a choice at some point.
Book signing LA Festival of Books 2006 for DEGREES OF OBSESSION
Now my good friend won’t have to wonder how she can throw that book signing party for me when all I have is a Kindle edition. Sign their Amazon receipt? Be arrested when I take a sharpie to their computer or Kindle screen?
So stay tuned. A bit more tweaking and the paperback version of MOTHER TONGUE will be good to go. And that one I can autograph for you without doing jail time!
in the Kindle (English) version
can be PRE-ORDERED NOW at Amazon.com for $2.99.
Or at Amazon.fr
The RELEASE DATE is December 6, 2014
PAPERBACK VERSION AVAILABLE NOW AMAZON.COM
Enjoy the TRAILER and pass it on to anyone you know
Visiting my “ride” before taking my laps.
My tall handsome chariot driver!
I had been looking forward to Lyn St. James’ lecture at the Blackhawk Automotive Museum in Danville, CA in November but then she had to postpone. But an opportunity arose to see her at Sonoma Raceway during the CSRG Charity Challenge. I hung around all morning looking for her and waiting for my 3-lap ride (read “10 minutes of absolutely delicious terror”) around the 12-turn 2.52 mile road track in a 1952 Jaguar XK 120 owned and driven by James Alder. I had been at the track a few weeks earlier watching Helio Castroneves and Will Power navigate their Indy cars around the same track. Hitting Turn 1 at full throttle is fear on steroids! At least for this 71 year old Granny!
Lyn St. James’ record setting Thunderbird
I did get a gander at Lyn’s 1989 Ford Thunderbird in which she set a myriad of speed records in the track winner’s circle and read a sign about all of her feats, but no sight of its famous female driver.
I was about to give up and strolled over to the cafe for something to eat when I spied her sitting at a picnic table signing her book for a friend.
Lyn and me at Sonoma raceway
Breathlessly, I introduced myself and ran off into the raceway store to purchase a copy for signing. The most interesting part is that I had read up on her personal history the night before and discovered that she grew up in Willoughby, Ohio, the same small town outside of Cleveland where my grandparents had lived their entire adult lives, where my mother had been born and raised, where many of my other relatives had been prominent citizens, and where I had been baptized, had visited many times, and had even attended second grade. My uncle, Robert Shankland, a famous physicist, had, along with his uncle, served as a trustee of the Andrews School for Girls (now the Andrews Osborne Academy), which Lyn had attended from 7th to 12th grade. My uncle’s father, Sherwood Shankland, had been the school’s first superintendent. Lyn shared about how this school, which was eons ahead of its time in empowering the lives of young women, influenced her character development and ambitions. And we had a lively discussion about her visit next spring to the Museum. I hope to become involved in the preparations for this event. Finally, a volunteer activity that truly captures my attention–a combo of two loves, the excitement of car racing and my passion about the place of women in the fabric of America.
The theme of Women’s History Month in 2015 is Weaving the Stories of Women’s Lives. The warp and woof of Lyn’s story is woven with Nomex, a fire-retardant material that is used to make the suit, gloves, socks and shoes worn by race car drivers. But as her website says: “Lyn St. James’ story is not just about being a successful race car driver. It’s a story about goal setting, determination, passion and fully utilizing all her defeats and successes to break into a world no one could have imagined possible: auto racing.” The 2010 revised edition of her book Lyn St. James, An Incredible Journey, is still available. For any woman who was told as a child that she can’t be this or that because it’s a man’s prerogative, this book is a must!
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I just have to look at these favorite photos of my four grandchildren.
Waiting in my chiropractor’s office, I picked up the September 2014 Special Edition of Scientific American on Evolution and read a fascinating interview with Sherry Turkle, a Sociologist at MIT. She asked an 18 year old male, “What’s wrong with conversation [vs. emailing]?” He answered, “It takes place in real time. You can’t control what you’re going to say.” Sherry commented that that is why a lot of people like to do their dealings on email–it’s not just the time shifting, it’s that you basically can get it right.
This struck a cord with me and made me think about pros and cons of using email as the ever increasing go-to for all forms of communication.
Many, especially women, feel if they say it JUST RIGHT, that their listeners will better hear their message and behave or respond in a desirable way. Women have always rehearsed their speeches, read self-help books on communication, and sent long hand-written letters when they wanted to get their message across to a spouse, a child, or a boss. Now they email.
The first problem that arises is that email turns even the most socially cautious person into an impulsive blabbermouth. A couple of quick revisions, if that, and our pointer finger hits the SEND button. And no more being able to fish poison-pen letters out of mail boxes with coat hangers. Emailing tends to disinhibit us. We say things in emails, usually off the top of our heads, that we would never say in person or even in a letter. We shout in ALL CAPS, belying our real timid mouse personalities. Our fingers tap out insulting and derogatory words we would never dare spout in public.
The second problem is that we begin to believe we have a real relationship with the person on the receiving end of our hyperspace missives. But they cannot hear the inflection in our voice or see the smile that says we are teasing, even when our emails are filled with a slew of IMHOs, LOLs, and OMGs. Nor can we see the smirk on their face as our words fall on deaf ears nor the faster than lightning move as they send our precious words to the trash bin hell.
The time delay (even the millisecond delay in instant messaging) prohibits a connection between emotions and words that can be so painful, or even delightful, in real conversation.
So with all its limitations and pitfalls, why are we as a nation and a world gravitating to email and similar forms of communication? Why are we allowing a brave new world of technology to degradate the one thing that most defines us a human beings, direct communication. We can teach a monkey to press keys on a keyboard and a remote voice on an iPhone can spout words at us. Sherry Turkle suggests that more and more people would actually settle for a relationship with “Her” of movie fame. Less messy.
I am the first to admit that email has often been the bane of my existence. Yes, I use it for convenience, but I also use it when I’m too fearful to speak the truth, when I think that a dozen revisions will make my words more acceptable or terribly enticing. I use it to force a connection that I know would never fly in person. I use it to circumvent my natural shyness, especially with the opposite sex.
But instead of making myself clearer, I make myself anathema, offending when not intending to do so, intruding where not welcome, badgering and manipulating, and then sending more emails to try to repair the damage.
What about blogging? Many of the same drawbacks but at least I’m giving you a chance to read or not read my pontifications. Yes, you can delete my emails without reading them. But who ever does that!
Here’s to real live conversations with all their hesitations, miscues, mumbling and stumbling, stuttering and stammering. Here’s to having a red face, a sweaty brow, and spinach between our teeth. And, most of all, here’s to precarious but precious moments of being human.
The Maserati Alfieri Concept car in the early morning fog
A great time at the 2014 Rolex Motorsports Reunion at Laguna Seca. Drove down from the Bay Area at the crack of dawn to get a good parking space. I was delayed by a big spill of tomatoes on the freeway but because the track was fogged in still arrived in time for the first race run. Found a very wet seat in my favorite stands by Turn 4. By 10 am the seats and the track had dried out. Enjoyed taking a little Track Taxi (run by Veterans to raise funds for Wounded Vets) up to top of the track where you can see a view of the entire track off one side of the hill and see the race cars zoom through the corkscrew turn on the other. The Mark this year was Maserati and it was great to see both the classic versions and this stunning new Alfieri Concept.
After the race maintenance
Under heavy fog Group 3B Can-Am comes out to play including Craig Bennett in his 1974 Shadow DN4 (scroll down through the photos on this Sports Car Digest article). On the left is a photo I took after the race with the chassis exposed for some repair work. I’d also seen this car up at Sonoma last spring. Great to watch it pull away from the rest of field here at Laguna Seca.
My friends weren’t able to make it, but never fear, I met a really great guy. Big and fluffy! And hel’ll never give me any back talk!
Look this one up to see the sponsor!!
My favorite gull-wing classic
Read all about this Alfa in the photo below
Beef brisket enchiladas. The best in Mex California cuisine
I hit the road in the early afternoon in order to stop at my favorite restaurant in Willow Glen.
But look what I missed by leaving early! Right in front of the stands where I had been sitting. A wheel flying into the stands.
If you haven’t been to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, put it on your bucket list. This trip with the good friends that enticed me to go the first time several years back was just as enjoyable as ever.
We stay at the McCall House, which is at the top of my list for gracious, lovingly restored and decorated B&Bs in either California or Oregon.
And just steps away from the Festivals three theaters–two indoor and an Elizabethan style one outdoors.
We started with a innovative version of The Two Gentlemen of Verona with an all-female cast. It took only a few spoken lines to completely forget that women were playing the male roles. Then a bloody and brilliant version of Richard III, the king you love to hate, with consumate acting by veteran actor Don Donahue. For comic relief, a Marx Brothers farce, Cocoanuts was next on the agenda with an improv approach that included the audience–whether they wanted a Marx brother in their laps or not! The last of the eleven productions slated for the 2014 season (which goes from January through October) that I was able to see this time around was Into the Woods, the crazy mixed-up fairytale by Steven Sondheim, with princes on 3-wheel bicycles with horses heads and giant’s wive’s faces projected on the proscenium, a fanciful morality tale for all. I’ll be back next year for sure.
It occurred to me as I watched a dear friend say a final good-bye to a beloved son that good-byes are rarely “good” and often deeply painful. The etymology of this common form of farewell comes from godbwye (1570s), itself a contraction of God be with ye traced back to the late 14th century. The French adieu has a similar origin from the phrase a dieu vous commant translated I commend you to God. And if we had kept the original meaning in current parlance, maybe it would feel both “good” and “Godly” when a good-bye is heard.
But such is not always the case. Many good-byes feel like good riddance with good luck thrown in for good measure. The most painful good-byes in my life have been abrupt, unexpected, and have come from the lips of those I had most trusted. I’m sure I am not alone in considering these good-byes as unfair and unwarranted.
What would it take to consider all those moments of abandonment by those we love as “good” or “Godly”. “Good” is probably the hardest concept to conjure up. But sometimes we are blessed with new wisdom down the road that changes our perception and allows us to see the “good” in those farewells and we find ourselves down on our knees saying a thousand thank yous. “Godly” is a bit easier. Since I readily admit that I don’t know what is best for me and that a power greater than myself does, I can trust that the acceptance of a painful good-bye will eventually be mine regardless of how many tears have been shed. I can trust in the promise that God will not send me off on any path, even the ones that I myself have mis-chosen, that is outside His realm of care. Not that these good thoughts don’t occasionally disappear in moments of regret and self-pity.
Hello’s sometimes seem equally misnamed, at least those that have led us into relationships that have brought more misery than happiness. Those hello’s that slip out in a moment of infatuation or greed or inattention. That probably should have been a “hell-no” instead.
I realize, of course, that we attach our own meaning to these greetings as life is lived, as battles are won and lost, as we mature or hang on to childish notions. To see a hello or good-bye unadulterated by life’s traumas, we only have to turn to our grandchildren, especially in their toddler years. When their eyes fill with delight at our coming and with tears at our departure, when they hurl their little bodies across the room to grab our knees in greeting or to try to keep us from leaving, when kisses are blown with pudgy little hands or slobbery kisses wet our cheeks, we know in our souls that there is no hell in hello and that good-byes are made up of a zillion chunks of pure love.
My mid-year resolution is to learn to say hell-no when I need to and to try to find “good” in every good-bye I’ve ever been blessed to hear.
I retired FOR GOOD four and a half years ago (the 100 flamingos in my yard were proof of that) after a forty-year career as a Clinical Psychologist. That’s eight thousand patients and tens of thousands of hours of listening to the basic seven stories of humankind: bad spouse or partner, bad job, bad kids, lousy childhood, maltreatment, bottom of society’s totem poles, or spiritual vacuum. But each retelling had its own flavor or its own horrors (just when you think you’ve heard the worst!) and the resilience of the human soul is a marvel to observe. Give it a place to flourish and flourish it will.
I turned my attention and my time toward being a loving grandparent and to fiction writing. I enjoyed putting the final touches on my second novel, MOTHER TONGUE, and developing a social media campaign to sell the first, DEGREES OF OBSESSION. How different the market has become for self-published authors. I even created a book trailer, which brought out the “director” in me.
And then my stellar work history caught up with me. A former colleague gave my name to a large heath care plan that services the Medi-Cal (Medicaid) population in 14 northern California counties. They were seeking someone with clinical experience and organizational skills (which I had obtained through leadership in my union) to serve as their Mental Health Director. Two days a week seemed doable and the lure of having a paycheck again, and a handsome one at that, led me to applying and then accepting the position.
So the plan is to sort out the new position, see what I can contribute to serving the Medi-Cal population in terms of mental health services, and run the Grammie and fiction writing “businesses” on the side. Who knew that entering the eighth decade of my life would be so invigorating and challenging. And I can always quit after I earn enough money to buy that Alfa Romeo Spider Veloce I’ve been hankering after!
Dr. Karen Stephen aka Doc Flamingo 