Messing with Memoir
Post 1 – March 14, 2021
The Guardian (British paper) wrote this about the current popularity of memoir writing: “Autobiographies are generally reserved for famous people, although anyone can write one and have it be a success. The requirement for a strong autobiography is a life that’s out of the ordinary in some way, whereas a memoir can be about an ordinary existence told with profound insight.” (Here is one place I’ve read something like this.)
I know that some of my early books—even though not called that in the 80s—were actually memoirs. Or that’s how they’d be classified today. On Troublesome Creek – a year I spent in voluntary service in Appalachia. Departure – about a year I lived in Barcelona Spain as a junior in college. And even my books about raising children, such as You Know You’re a Mother When … could be called memoir.
I don’t know if any of the above were told “with profound insight” but I’m glad I wrote them for myself if no one else: writing about things that happen to us help us understand ourselves better and, I hope, others to understand themselves better also. Not to mention having a clear journal or diary of things that happened. Because, folks, the stuff doesn’t stay retrievable in our gray matter after so many years and so many rich, splendid, life experiences.
I hope if you are interested in writing a nonfiction book, a memoir, or just want to ride along for the fun, jump onboard to catch some (mostly) really short posts with few embellishments (photo wise) as I embark on publicly letting others take a peek at my own process.
As I do this, I’m taken back many many years when I was a greenhorn, to a meeting when the director of the Choice Books rack program (you’ve surely seen their books all over in stores, Walmarts, airports, tourist shops, selling millions of religious books every year) inadvertently gave me insights regarding how to go about getting a nonfiction book published. I’ll share that story later sometime, but it is a process that still works in 2021 and beyond. And that, writing buddies or wannabes, is how I was able to be published by some of the bigger name religious publishing houses like Zondervan, Bethany, and Word Publishing back in the 80s, along with several published by Herald Press.
These posts will not appear on a specific schedule but as inspiration and perspiration lead. And P.S. I started writing the memoir over a year ago now so sharing my thoughts about the process lags somewhat behind the actual writing, which is creeping ahead and am loving doing it!
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If you’re already signed up to receive my blog posts, you will likely get these by email. I’m indexing them under a tags I’m calling Writing Life or Memoir Writing. If you’ve just stumbled on to this blog, I would love to have you sign up for any or all posts, which you can do right above my photo. I don’t sell emails.
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And I would love to hear your experiences writing, or about your favorite memoirs or anything about the writing life! Comments welcome!
P.S. Some of my older books are still available from used book stores and vendors on Amazon and elsewhere.
Another Way for week of March 5, 2021
Pandemic Gut Check
I look at the pictures or short videos of women (usually) and children sitting and staring in a refugee camp in some African or middle eastern country. Maybe I begin to feel just a hair of what they must feel like. They must think: Another day. Another day to somehow feed the family. Another day of waiting. Not really knowing what’s ahead.
Of course before you say wait a minute there are mammoth differences between a retired woman in the U.S. facing another day of the same old, and a desperate but patient woman or man somewhere “over there” waiting for a chance to move on, get out, find a new home, feel safer. I buy that.
But I—and maybe you too—have now felt the tedium, the frustration, the wondering. When will it end? Will it ever really end? Will one of my close family members die? We have lived with fear of these things, many of us, down deep.
It all helps me feel—in a way I’ve never been able to feel before (thank God) — the worry that thousands (millions?) around the world have felt for three, five, ten or more years in refugee camps. Can you imagine also dealing with the threat of Covid amidst all this?
Sigh. Okay, it’s been a year since the world shut down … since our lives changed here in North America where I live and write.
Ah: Writing. It’s been my salvation, my inspiration, my thing to do that keeps me going without falling into dark days of sleeping and situational depression and “I’m ready to scream” insides. I hope you have similar outlets, whether it is taking up piano or guitar again, finding time to knit, crochet or other needlework, projects long waiting you in the garage or shop, finding new movies and Netflix series to love, coming up with creative and delicious new menus. Or comfort food.
Those needing hospitalization for any of numerous ills are bearing the brunt of much suffering. Not only here, but around the world. If your spouse or family can’t visit you, how do you survive without going out of your mind?
An article I found online tells the story of a Roger Collins in Kansas City, Kan., hospitalized now for almost seven months. His wife has been visiting at his window every day since last July. Even in bad weather. She brings a two-person tent and is just trying to keep her dear husband’s spirits up, to keep fighting. The article said that their children and grandchildren also visited at the window. They leave love notes for their dad and granddad. His trachea has been damaged through some of his treatment, and he now needs reconstructive surgery to remove scar tissue. The next step will be transferring to a rehab facility, they hope.
Billie Collins hopes that after her husband has reconstructive surgery to remove scar tissue from his damaged trachea, he’ll be able to transfer to a rehab facility. How do people hang on to hope?
We are beginning to hope as one person after another who I know is managing to get a shot, the vaccine. My husband and I were able to get our first shots a week ago. What an emotional experience that was for me. We celebrate each and every one. We see some numbers going down. We suspect we will be wearing masks a long time yet.
I do know this: all of our family has had many many fewer colds or illness this past year, due to more sheltering at home, more washing of hands, more hand cleaner used, fewer person-to-person contacts. Knock on a lot of wood for all of us, ok?
And keep doing what keeps us all cleaner and healthier and we hope—more mindful of those struggling with difficult daily dramas that most of us in North America don’t know much about.
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How has it been for you?
Comment here, or send stories to anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of February 26, 2021
Of Fingernails and Other Oddball Funnies
I trimmed my fingernails the other week, nice and neat. I don’t go for polish or long nails. But when I sat there gathering up the narrow slivers looking like very thin crescent moons, suddenly I was back as a child attending probably one of the first weddings I ever went to. I remember wondering why there were fingernails all over the porch and cement steps outside the front entrance of our church?!
What did you wonder as a child? What mistakes were common in the church songs you learned growing up? Some of my Facebook friends helped me out here.
Charlene recalls thinking that a driver of a car only had to turn and look back to make the car go backward! (Self-driving cars, anyone?) She says when you’re a child sitting in the back seat all the time, you don’t get a good idea of what it actually takes to make a car move, you know?
Charlene, who is about my age, also recalled how on long family trips, especially at night, “My dad would place a suitcase on each side of the hump on the back seat floor. One of us would make a bed there. One of us would get to sleep on regular seat, and the third sibling [likely the smallest one] would climb up on the third level ‘bed’ in the rear window.” She closes, “Yikes.” I remember the same scenario but with our younger brother (fourth child) tucked up between mom and dad in the front seat. I also seem to recall my older sisters vying for that middle position in front at times so that Dad would occasionally let them steer. Again, yikes!
A different kind of misunderstanding took place for Kenneth worrying that if he turned the car’s radio dial, that “we would never be able to find the same station again.” That still happens for me, especially traveling!
Misunderstood songs include Ginny wondering what a “roun’ John vurjun” was. Ginny also took a child to J.C. Penny’s. After they had walked around for a while, the girl asked, “Ginny, when are we going to chase pennies?”
Loren thought it strange at Easter that Jesus would come up out of gravy, singing “Up from the gravy he arose.” Ann wondered about singing “The world in Solomon stillness lay …” And Gloria says among the familiar words of “Jesus Loves Me,” they would sing “The Florida Bible tells me so.” On the secular side of Christmas songs, one reader of this column had a friend when he was young who was sure a line in Jingle Bells went “one horse, soap, and sleigh.”
Another misunderstanding of hymn texts came from Ellen in Waterloo, Iowa. Her husband had told their six-year-old son that Ford was one of the top three U.S. automakers. Several days later their family was singing the table grace, “Great God, the giver of all good … grace, health, and strength to us afford….” The six-year-old’s head popped up after the prayer: “No wonder Ford is in the top three!”
Too short swimming references: Florence in Minnesota wrote about her four-year-old chattering about her sister’s swimming lessons. “When I’m bigger, I’ll go swimming too,” she said proudly.
“What do you know about swimming,” her mother quizzed.
“Well, you wear a swimming suit, and your hair gets wet.” Yep, all you need to know.
Nancy used to call a bathing suit “baling suit.” My own small friend would call it a “babbing” suit. The “th” in it is hard to hear!
One of the saints of our church, Henrietta, once told me this story. Her five-year-old great grandson loved birds, and was an avid bird watcher. They came upon a dead bird on a sidewalk, and naturally he was very upset. First he said, “I’ll just let it alone for a while,” as if he didn’t understand or recognize the finality of death. Finally, he inquired, “Does it need new batteries?”
I hope this has been a charge up of your batteries for another winter day. Spring is truly not far away!
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Ok, I shared my young oddball misconception–what’s one of yours? Or off a friend or family member (if you have permission to share it or change up the name). We’d love to hear!
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Or family memories from a road trip, like Charlene?
Comment here or send your fun misconceptions or stories to anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of February 19, 2021
Two Examples of Great Customer Service
Working at Walmart is generally not thought of as a great job but we found a woman who deserves high praise—and I’m sure there are thousands (millions?) more like her.
My husband, bless his heart, still loves an old-fashioned wristwatch. Yes, he has a smart phone and carries it with him almost constantly, but he says a watch is so much easier to glance at, especially if your hands are tied up with something else, which his are frequently. Doing a project, timing an exercise, driving along (now that our state has finally made a law against holding any cell phone while driving). Yes, our vehicles have clocks, but keep them up to date with time changes every six months? It doesn’t happen.
So, recently a watch he bought for $8.88 at Walmart last September suffered a broken watchband. Clock is fine, band has succumbed to it’s cheap manufacturing process. What good is a watch with a broken band?
One of our local Walmarts has an actual clerk who fixes watch bands. She is not young, and her fingers looked gnarled with arthritis. After we asked her about fixing it, she protested briefly citing difficulty, and my husband said he didn’t know where else he could get it repaired. (Do you know a local store that fixes watch bands?)
She looked busy but resigned, pulling out her tools. And yes, we could have bought another watch for $8.88 if necessary, but it was still under warranty. I noticed with some amusement a nearby collection of wedding and engagement bands selling from the same counter: yep, you guessed it, $8.88 for both rings.
The woman with graying hair mostly concealed by a shade of brown, bent over the counter and worked. She fiddled hard with the small gizmos on each piece of the watchband that had broken. Repeatedly they fell from position, and she pushed the small pliers to pick up each small piece. She worked probably close to 15 minutes and I almost said, “Oh let’s just buy a new one.” But then I got intrigued and fascinated with her diligence. Standing all day, bent over a counter, and perhaps 70 years old, maybe older. I looked for her to shove it back to him at any moment saying “It can’t be fixed. Buy a new one.” Her 15 minutes of work was probably worth only $4.
She finally straightened up her back and handed the repaired watch back to my husband, with some pleasure in her face, hidden of course by her mask. We praised and thanked her repeatedly, my husband querying whether she could take a tip. I didn’t catch the answer but I know it was no.
What a joy it was to see a woman who cared about her work—of giving a customer the value he had invested in a watch. How many others would have shrugged and said “We don’t do that anymore” and left us to our own frustrations. How many others instead of toiling hard and bent over a repair counter would have walked away from any job that was so taxing?
I have a feeling she’s not alone in dedication. Kudos and may their kind increase!
We were also pleased with another demonstration of great customer service. There’s a longtime bakery in the town where my mother lives and as I stated in this column recently, cooking and baking is getting to be a big burden or chore for Mom. I had ordered some plain sugar cookies from this bakery for Thanksgiving and she loved and savored them for weeks, from her freezer. I ordered another two dozen in early February but there was a mix up of some kind and the wrong kind was delivered, which my mother had trouble chewing. I called the bakery and the owner sent over a new batch the following week, completely on him. I was astounded. If you’re ever in Goshen Indiana, stop in at Dutch Maid Bakery!
Share you recent “great customer service” story! Comment here or send to anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of February 12, 2021
All God’s Critters Got a Place in the Choir
Are you a dog person? Cat person? A no-animals-in-the-house person?
I just finished a book that has opened my eyes to the inside workings of a pretty amazing dog, Merle, as seen by the human he adopted. Just in case there’s a question, in this case the dog did adopt the human and not the other way around after a rather rough start in the deserts of southwestern United States where he was most likely mistreated. The book is called Merle: Lessons from a Freethinking Dog by Ted Kerasote (2007). It spent months on the New York Times bestseller list but I found it recently in a “Little Free Library.”
This author has written numerous books on the relationship between humans and animals, many articles longer ago for magazines such as Audubon and Outdoor Life, and now focuses on book writing. He lives a pretty idyllic life if you like mountains, rivers, hunting, and skiing in Kelly, (population 135 in 2007), Wyoming, on the edge of Grand Tetons National Park. In Kelly, dogs run free as long as they are well behaved. Merle made the rounds of his village almost every day, tall and proud, wagging his tail in greeting and nicknamed “Mayor” by the neighborly residents.
One reviewer said “Kerasote’s penchant for translating Merle’s subtle tail wags and facial tics into English is one of the book’s many great joys” (The Oregonian, Portland). For instance, I never thought about a dog’s panting sounding like “Ha ha ha,” but it does! So overall, “ha ha ha” means a dog is happy—usually panting after running or playing. What dog doesn’t love that?
We feel lucky to live in the country. When we are working outside, our dog Velvet, an Australian shepherd mixed breed, gets to run free on seven acres of hayfield and woods, and sticks pretty close to the boundaries. It did take a while for her to learn them. She loves digging, running, and herding—mainly us, her two humans. She hates the sound of equipment: the lawn mower, snowblower, chain saw, vacuum. When we’re inside, she barks loudly when someone knocks at the door. But she also complains “woof, woof” loudly if we hug or kiss.
When visitors come, we’ve worked hard training her not to jump up on them. She does well except if our friend Joe comes over (he’s in our bubble). Joe loves her greeting him with her paws on his shirt. I think Velvet understands the rules about not jumping on anyone else. She is a bit anxious or skittish when our grandchildren come to visit. She loves them, loves to play with them and be tenderly petted. Yet she has had to learn—and they too—that they MUST not pet her if they have crumbs on their hands. They’ve learned that lesson especially well now with Covid to wash hands immediately after eating. She used to try to lick their hands clean of any drippings which sometimes felt like she was nipping them. But she’s done better now that they’re old enough to understand they’ve got to wash their hands.
Velvet irritates us when she wakes us up with “woof woof” (time to take me outside you sleepyheads!). After that, there’s no sleeping, we might as well both get up. Better, is a much softer “Buh, Buh” which is a milder form of barking for her. Then one of us can usually slide out of the bedroom without waking the other one.
But all the way down our hall, she wiggles her backside, so happy I’m up, and looks over her shoulder to make sure I’m coming behind her. “Shush,” I scold quietly, so she doesn’t wake my husband. We’ve tried to train her to sit down and wait for her dinner, or else she gobbles it down. Stuart makes her wait for him to go to the basement, and not make us fall by trying to run in front.
Velvet has been a challenge for us as older adults now, but the marvelous thing about books is how we can learn from other people how to do better, whatever the topic. Whether it’s taking care of dogs or a marriage or a child. Do I get a woof woof? If you want to learn more about dogs, you might enjoy this book, available from many libraries.
A blogger friend and neighbor, Sharon Landis, has written her own wonderful children’s dog story, Who Will Come for Pup. I love her tales on Facebook of training her three dogs!
Dog lover? Not so much? I’d love to hear your stories.
For dog lovers, how many dogs have you owned–either at one time, or over the years? Velvet is our fourth dog as a couple.
Comments here or send to anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of February 5, 2021
Are We Tired of Cooking Yet?
So, when the pandemic slammed most of us back into being more “homebodies” than we were before, that also meant cooking more. And at first some reveled in it. Time to make exotic international dishes or complete menus, time to bake that sourdough bread (sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t tried to make any yet; other homemade bread—yes, a couple times), nice tossed salads almost every night for supper, you get the picture.
I wish I could say my husband has taken up cooking. He did improvise grilling things in batches so that we can freeze extra meat and have a meal almost at the ready. He helps clear the table and makes our morning coffee and gets out our cereals ever since he retired a couple years ago. And in his defense, I perhaps would invite him to do more cooking (insist?) but frankly he makes more mess than I do and I’m lazy that way. He needs more utensils, more plates, more potholders, more grilling instruments, fixing up lights outside to grill, you get the picture. Like mother used to say, it is easier to just do it myself. If I die first, he’ll probably go back to living on peanut butter and jelly/banana sandwiches, or warming up pork and beans with hotdogs in an old electric popcorn popper like he did before we were married. Anyone else raising their hand?
I enjoy cooking for groups of people and family—but hello? No groups have darkened our door much, due to you know what. We have enjoyed a little extended family time, but mostly outside.
So it’s the hub and me. Meat for him is the basic and once I get that decided, my day feels like it runs much smoother. Not hard to build a meal once you’ve got the main course, the sides and the dessert (plain ice cream almost every night). I’ve started making an idea sheet so that if my eyes glaze for one more time worrying about what we’ll have for supper, I can check the list and at least get an idea going.
As many readers know my mother lives in a retirement facility where she normally gets a hot cooked meal each noon. She has to pay for it, but at 96, she’s just happy to pay rather than cook. Cooking truly gets to be harder and harder, she’s convinced me: not being able to open jars, cans, boxes, chop up veggies or fruits, clean skillets or cookie sheets. You have to be on your toes even microwaving things, so things don’t get overdone. Microwaving often ends up a mess, she says, and hard to scrub, and then there’s running out of ingredients when you can no longer drive (as she frequently reminds us). So no, it is not easy.
Then there are leftovers. My daughter’s oldest son helped them improvise a way to keep track of leftovers in the refrigerator. They simply write on the calendar what they had for dinner, and if there are leftovers to put in the frig, it serves as reminder to use it up before it gets too old. My daughter has particular meal challenges I shudder at: two different food allergies or sensitivities in her family—including one with outright celiac requiring all foods to be gluten free. If she reads this, I can imagine her shaking her head: if we only knew the half of it.
I also know that many many families on limited incomes or out of work have to put together a meal with stuff from a food drive or pantry: canned peas or spaghetti-o’s or boxed mac and cheese. Maybe a can of fruit or even some fresh fruits or veggies, but overall the fixin’s from Salvation Army or another food pantry are not super exciting.
This takes me back to my father who prayed almost every day that there would be food “for all the hungry peoples of the world.” As a farmer, he did what he could and organized crop raising events to that end.
Yes, I’ll cook supper again. Happily!
What’s your favorite meal planning method? This mother had her daughter begin planning and cooking menus from an early age!
Do you agree that it gets harder to cook as we get older? Why or why not? What is harder for you?
Does or did your children have a favorite meal they want or wanted almost every week?
Valentine’s Day Weekend menu ideas? You may want to visit my blogger friend Marian Beaman’s post featuring a cookbook especially for guys, Mennonite Men Can Cook, Too by my former colleague, Willard Roth.
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Comment here, or send to anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of January 29, 2021
They Got Married in a Pandemic
and bridal bouquet out of dried flowers.
[Second of two posts on our daughter’s wedding. All photos here taken by family; we don’t yet have official photography.]
As the days counted down to our youngest daughter’s wedding, I kept humming the song Johnny Cash made famous, “Jackson,” which starts: “We got married in a feve-ah,” and changing up the last words to “We got married in a pan-dem-ic.” Here’s how the outdoor wedding went down.
Parts of their wedding ceremony were what you could expect with any wedding: discombobulation by either the bride, the groom, the bride’s mother, or assorted relatives close to the couple. Add a pandemic to the occasion, and yeah, there’s gonna be befuddlement.
The wedding was just outside Washington D.C. in Silver Spring, Maryland. My husband and I arrived a bit early, so we stopped at a nearby Costco to use their excellent bathroom facilities. But Costco on a busy Saturday of a holiday weekend in a pandemic in any modern city is a pretty crowded place to be. My daughter’s future mother-in-law had warned her, “Never go there on a Saturday.” We got out as quickly as we could, picking up a slice of pizza for lunch in our vehicle.
I was glad we did that when we got a last-minute distress call from the bride saying she had forgotten her concealer (make-up). Could I run to the Target on the other side of Costco and pick some up? I found it after texting her photos to make sure I was getting the right thing.
When we arrived at the church where our daughter was getting dressed, we couldn’t find my husband’s dress shoes anywhere in our minivan. Finally I said he should just wear his bright white tennis shoes (with navy suit). Doreen assured us that NO ONE would be looking at his shoes anyway.
It was a small crowd, just 20, including pastor, photographer/videographer, and immediate family members and their loves. The temperature was hovering near 48 degrees at 3 p.m., start time. Our daughter had picked a small creek and bridge near her church, where we gathered in family bubbles, masked, and at least six feet apart. I was missing the help of my sister-in-law who did the flowers for all our daughters’ weddings, but was not there to take care of pinning on the lovely corsages and boutonnieres she’d made. She had also made a beautiful dried bridal bouquet.
The day went very well, all things considered, if you don’t count a cute but tearful two-year-old ring bearer who didn’t quite understand his job, a lost key lob by a harried mother of the bride—who also dropped her glasses in the leaves—still thick in that park. I didn’t even realize they had fallen from my neckline, but I must have lodged them there temporarily to get the fog off. I was also trying to talk by phone to my sister in Indiana who was trying to join the scheduled Zoom meeting so she and my 96-year-old mother could watch.
When I got back to our van after the ceremony, I could not find my glasses there. My middle daughter launched a search in the park. Praise be, my new son-in-law found them, one lens squished out of the frame which I popped back in. He won points for that one! And I looked again for the van’s key lob and found it in a small bag. I had no memory of placing it there. Wedding discombobulation, my middle daughter said, not dementia. Let’s hope so. I hurriedly passed out the wrapped gluten free cupcakes I’d made for folks to enjoy on their way home, or for supper. You have to have cake celebrating a wedding, right?
Finally, I was able to present our daughter and her husband the beautiful handmade quilt her grandmother had made—a task she’d completed for all nine of her grandchildren. It sat covered in our closet for years. My mother is no longer able to quilt, and we’re glad she finished it when she did—with help from others. May it wrap this young couple in love, memories, and connections many years after this pandemic is in the history books.
Comments or your own story? Comment here or send to anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of January 23, 2021
Getting Married Amid the Pandemic
[First of two parts]
My youngest daughter is getting married today (written January 16). Yes, I’m a little old and she’s no 20-something herself anymore. But we are overjoyed that she and her mate have found each other and are preparing to spend the rest of their lives together. This gives us joy and satisfaction that they will be there for each other in years to come, even as we move up in years.
But getting married in this pandemic? A little bit crazy but also a bit saner, perhaps, because they were forced to strip back to the essentials: who must be there? Who will we have to forego inviting? No dress rehearsals, no bridal tea, no bridal or wedding showers even. No tuxes. No special music to worry about. But, instead, wondering whether the technology side of attending “by Zoom” will just be too complicated for some friends and relatives who would otherwise be joining us in person.
As mother-of-the-bride I scurried about cleaning the house, but other years when our older daughters got married, we prepared for a major influx of family visitors, housing as many as we could. Some slept on a mattress on the floor. But with only one small family of four visiting us post-wedding, the pre-wedding clean-up was really no big deal.
Yes, there was a photographer, a videographer, and minister to line up. But outside in mid-January!? In Maryland. Let’s see, that’s technically a northern state. Yes, cold, but it could be worse according to the weather records: today it should be around 44 when the vows are repeated.
But there will be cupcakes, and a ring bearer, something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. There will be parents and siblings and spouses/significant others, all keeping the total under Maryland’s limits for outside gatherings at this stage of lock down: no more than 25, all wearing masks. At least masks tend to keep your face warm. Does anyone else think so too? One advantage.
I don’t feel as nostalgic as if she were just now leaving home: she’s been independent for about ten years, managing her own finances (including grad school), first job in a strange city and all alone (with one sister living about 45 minutes away, which is nice). She has been launched, so it was very sweet and welcome when her beau sat down with us on our porch this summer the old-fashioned way, to “ask” for our daughter’s hand in marriage, or maybe “tell” us that’s what he intended to do. I don’t know if they do this in the country he is from originally or not: Benin. A small country in western Africa. We’ve known him now over two years and are very impressed with the love and joy they have shown for each other and we hope and pray they’ll know many years of happiness together.
Anyone who gets married during a pandemic that seems currently to be worsening (but thankfully with vaccines soon available for more of us)—has got to be optimistic. We hope to have a larger celebration later when it is safe for such. That’s anyone’s guess about when that will be. We’d love for it to happen this fall.
I think I’ve written down these wedding day thoughts for each of my daughters and the thing I want to say is love and marriage are difficult but worth it. The companionship, the being there for each other, the long years of history together—that’s what we all want, isn’t it? Many are not so lucky whether because of divorce or death, but that’s the goal and that’s what brings us to this day, rejoicing.
Let the dance begin! And I’ll let you know next week how it all went down.
Wedding preparation stories? What went well or caused panic at your wedding?
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Other comments or stories? Send to anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of January 15, 2021
What I Learned from a Favorite Professor
He was known to mutter words like “rubbish!” and “horrors!” when analyzing a piece of writing.
One of my favorite professors at Eastern Mennonite College (now EMU) died recently. Not of COVID-19, but after a long battle with vascular dementia—which sometimes comes about after a stroke, I’m told. Omar Eby taught English literature and writing courses during my time at EMU.
Omar (we usually called our professors by their first names, a practice he was fine with) was perhaps the single most influential person guiding me into the occupation I’ve loved: writer.
He was not one to mince words regarding what he thought of our writing. More than once I stiffened as he’d huff out the word “rubbish” in response to a piece of writing. But he was not rude, nor rough, just honest and not afraid to let you know how and where your writing needed improving. As a writer, you have to be ready for critique, editing, refining, putting in the most perfect word.
According to his obit, Eby was a friend and mentor to many aspiring young writers. Eby’s life of 85 years was impacted greatly by serving six years as an English teacher in east and central Africa. It was there, I’m thinking, that he learned to speak with a bit of a British English accent and flair. As he returned to the U.S. teaching at the college level, he frequently shared what he’d learned from the cultures of Somalia, Tanzania, and Zambia. He also wrote several novels and other books, some centered in Africa: How Full the River (published while I was under his tutelage).
I never saw much of him after leaving EMU, until he moved to Virginia Mennonite Retirement Community, which offers full nursing care in a non-institutional, homelike setting. A group from my church would usually go there to carol at Christmas. I remember the first time I saw him with a huge bib at the large dining room table, and almost nonverbal. I drew in my breath. Could that be the professor who was always dressed neatly, always had a witty and incisive remark about a piece of writing, who had no patience for mediocrity. It was hard to see him there and as I approached him to say hello, he seemed to remember me. But I wasn’t sure.
But what counts is the instruction he gave me, mostly affirming and positive or suggesting other words or approaches. He read and graded carefully, catching the smallest misspelling and encouraging us to submit articles that he deemed outstanding to various magazines. I still laugh when I read a note on one of my papers when I tried to coin a word, “poetize.” “Horrors!” he wrote, “what a term.” I think I thought it meant to “wax poetic.” Another time I used a word, “silented.” He wrote simply, “No!” The paper got a C+. That paper ended up being a chapter in my first book—carefully fixed and expanded.
Once Omar shared how he had written a long essay on assignment for Saturday Evening Post about returning to the continent of Africa and the feelings that overwhelmed him as he flew over the western coast. He quietly told us it had been accepted for publication. Then came the bad news. They ended up paying him a kill fee—and if that sounds brutal, it is to any author/writer. It was substantial for those days, somewhere between $500 and $1000, but he said he would have been much happier to be published in the magazine and foregone the payment.
So he was human. And now has left us, like so many others. These times give us opportunity to reflect more fully on what various people have meant to us, and, I hope, give us pause to decide to invest ourselves more fully in bringing meaning and joy and instruction to the lives of others.
What did you learn from a favorite teacher, pastor, family member, friend?
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After I wrote this, I discovered thoughts and memories regarding Omar by other English majors, and colleagues here. His memorial service is being conducted today (Jan. 23, 2021) and streaming is available here.
Your own thoughts and observations? Send to anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of January 8, 2021
What I Learned from an Older Friend
I was blessed to develop a friendship later in life with a dear woman named Martha Stoops.
I first met Martha after the funeral of her daughter-in-law, Liz. My daughter Tanya was very close friends with Liz’s daughter, Edie. They had been friends through middle school. Liz died in late fall their freshman year of high school. At that time we only knew the family as fellow band parents. I’ll never forget the band’s piercing rendition of “Amazing Grace” playing out over the gravestones that chill day.
On the last day of 2020, my friend Martha was reunited not only with her husband who died three years ago, but her daughter-in-law, sister, and many who Martha took care of over the years. She was a LPN in nursing homes and hospitals. Later, she cared for elderly persons in her home. When she told me of her experiences she would say, “You come to understand that dying is just a part of life” and dismissed it as that. So I wasn’t surprised when her son Edward repeated his mother’s mantra when he called to let me know she had gone on: “Mom always said, ‘Well death is just a part of life.’”
We had great times together and that’s what I want to remember. We sat with them at football games when the girls (her granddaughter) were in high school and later at college games. We all went on a band trip to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. We’d go out for dessert after games and invited each other for Christmas parties and birthdays.
She gave me lots of good and welcome advice. About marriage. And children, and letting things roll off your shoulders. By example, she also taught me when to stay out of arguments. When a group of 12 of us traveled together to Macy’s Thanksgiving parade in New York City, we had trouble keeping together. Finally, late in the evening, my husband and I took off on our own, and said we’d take a bus back to our motel in New Jersey just west of NYC. Martha’s husband was distraught that we wouldn’t find our way back. We almost didn’t, but that’s another story. Elmer Sr. blessed us out for not adequately communicating and causing them much stress. Wisely, Martha kept out of that tiff.
The trip I’m always glad we took was to their earlier stomping grounds in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. They loved the old-timey amusement park there, Kennywood, and said we had to go. We finally made the trip with them in 2011. We had a wonderful time, like kids. It wasn’t too many years after that their health started failing.
Perhaps it was unusual to have such a good friend who was almost 20 years older. She taught me about aging. When I would call to set up a time for getting together, nailing down a date or time, she would ask her husband to get on the phone so she wouldn’t forget the details. Eventually I asked her about that over dinner—whether she was afraid of not remembering. “Yes,” she told me, and I lamented what we both had suspected to be true. I loved her honesty and openness, even though her beautiful mind was beginning to fail her. Most times our conversation would flow like normal but if asked about a specific detail of a recent event or about the family, she’d gloss over or laugh off an answer, because she couldn’t remember. After she moved into a nursing home when her husband could no longer care for her because of his own health issues, she couldn’t open her eyes. Sometimes I would get a few brief words out of her—and when my husband also visited, she clasped his hand tightly. She gave me many creative keepsakes over the years, some she made herself, and a ribbon bookmark she ordered for attendees at their “surprise” 50th wedding anniversary celebration.
The pastor who officiated at the brief graveside service, Peggy Packard, said Martha took special joy in the verse from John 11: 5, “Now Jesus loved Martha.” The verse of course add that Jesus also loved Mary her sister and their brother Lazarus. But my Martha felt blessed seeing the words “Jesus loved Martha” in the Bible. The same is true for all of us. Insert your own name there. Of course, Jesus later scolded Martha for being too concerned with fixing food and straightening the house when he visited.
Martha, Martha: rest in peace. Enter into the joy of our Lord.
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What have you learned from an older person? Someone you loved and respected but was a year, or many years older than you?
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In many countries of the world, the wisdom and lives and examples of elders are highly honored. How can we do better in North America?
Send comments or stories and perhaps I’ll share in a future column. Send to anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
