End of Summer Thoughts

I wasted, so I thought, the summer with little advancement in my writing. For years I've had stored in the computer two creative nonfiction stories written multiple times, attempting to find the best lede. Opening the story with an illustrious picture of words seemed to escape me.  During the early summer I read of a contest in Alabama. Figuring few readers or judges had ever heard of the topic of my CNF, I took one more look at the first paragraph of one story and decided this was the last time I would rewrite it. Sitting only a few minutes I remembered  the words of Rick Bragg  a few years ago .  "Make your opening so your reader wants to keep reading." Of course, many other writers have said the same thing, but I've not heard their words.

Typing as fast as I could with the words jumping around in my head I got the opening lines finished. Printed the 1500 word story and mailed in a recollection of my six-month stay at a state preventorium. What is a preventorium? A place like an orphanage or a boarding school especially for children who may or may not have TB.  I was sooooo skinny with little appetite, always a sickly brat, the utlimate place, my parents thought, was a stay with other kids who needed special attention. I returned home six months later before my eighth birthday. No one in the family talked about my time there and I pushed the experience into the recesses of my mind.  Only after I was married did I reveal what I thought was a terrible experience.

However, to view the time spent there with my today's mind, I realize I had a little paradise. I couldn't appreciate it because I wanted to be home with my parents and new sister. Eight years ago I began to write what I remembered. Then a  FaceBook site appeared  and I read about other little patients and how they coped with the loneliness.  The height of this early summer was to be reunited with some of these patients. They are grown men and women who felt as I had,  the necessity of keeping the "P" a secret. By exchanging memories I realized how different my recollection was from theirs. I was at the preventorium in 1940; they arrived anywhere from 1950-1960.  We cruised the grounds, saw some similarities of the now buildings to the then ones.Thoughts came tumbling.

My entry into the contest didn't include a lot of what I learned about others' memories, but I received the support I needed to let the public, however large or small it be, know there had been a place in central Mississippi, as well as many around the United States helping kids..

A creative nonfiction is taking facts and surrounding them with your story.  I explained how TB was detected in 1940, the purpose of the sanitorium for adults and the preventorium for children, the daily routine developed for us kids, and the attention the workers gave to us. We lived on a large campus and were supplied with all we needed.

My story entitled, "A Secret Place" will be published in the Alabama Writers Conclave emagazine AlaLit sometime next year.  I'm proud not only of winning first place (a certificate and $100) but of having the opportunity to get the story in print so others can learn of the scourge of tuberculosis and how the state played a part in stamping out the disease.

Oddly, I read online the information from the Mississippi Department of Health that not a single child living in the Preventorium were ever found to have tuberculosis.

Following Health Rules

As a retiree I have time to read a lot of online news. One of my favorites is one by Dr. Andrew Weill. Perhaps its because if I follow his advice, I'll live to my goal of 140 years old. Of course, I know I can't do that, but by putting the age at the impossible, I always have that optimism I need to carry on.

However, in this quest to live a long time in decent health, I'm committing a terrible body sin: sitting too much. With little interest nowadays in shopping (if I do, it's online), more interest in reading and exploring subjects on the Internet, completing a family tree, writing family stories -- you got it. I sit down a lot, a whole lot. And Dr. Weill says that's not good for the aging body.

I change a bit. I get up and walk around, sip water, check the weather out doors, and return to my book or computer. Another four hours and I do the same. Mind you, I sit up straight so there's no stress on my back. But how can I find an activity to limit my seating? I feel pressed for time to complete all that I want, despite the 140 time limit. I could go tomorrow, this afternoon, next week. Then all my diligent work will remain incomplete. And that's where I get anxious.

My neighbor down the street would love for me to visit her often. Secretly I'd count the hours I'd was separated from my writing. I procrastinate to push myself to grocery shop. I don't want to leave the house. Have I become agoraphobic? Not really. There's no fear of the outside. In fact, once I'm out I truly enjoy having made the decision, but not when I'm searching for avocados.

Don't get me wrong. I do go to exercise classes three times weekly, but exercise at home? My mind's elsewhere.

Frankly, I don't think I'll change. The clock is ticking. Let's face it, I'll be good for 90 years, but don't  tell me I have only 10 to go.

MIning Your Memories

I began a free class in writing family stories back in September at the local library. The last meeting is Thursday, December 13. Like the teacher I once was, I've given class exercises and homework to 14 adults.

As examples of experiences, I used my own writings, far from being the kind that sells at Barnes & Noble, but my own exploration into my  family life. This was done so the participants could see that getting the words onto paper were most important first of all. No editing at this time. We talked about the time from  birth through elementary school. By handing out dozens of questions to prick their memories, I've led them through a process of exploration. And I've been surprised how much the participants remember about their early school life. Perhaps it's because they are much younger and still have their memories available.

Once I was told to think of our brains as arranged with "shelves" stacked on top of each other as in a post office. As we experience life the "notes" of memory fit into the shelves. As one ages, the shelves get stuffed and the earlier notes get pushed so far back a person has trouble finding that one experience. Of course, that's not true, but I use that in my thinking about how we shove some memories aside and it takes constant weeding to find some small incident we want to write about.

The reactions from participants has been pleasing. From drawing the floor plan of an early home to mapping or to writing an obituary, the challenges have been enjoyable. A wonderful group meeting for one and a half hours has created the incentive to write now.

Imagine in the 30th century a kid  fumbling though a box in the attic picks up a notebook titled "Family Stories". He thumbs through the pages yellowing with age and begins to read. He carries the notebook downstairs and settles  into a comfortable chair and flips the pages. Mother walks in and says, "What's that you're reading, Son?" and he replies, "Stories written by somebody named Vivian Newkirk. Who's she?" and his mother says, "Oh, you found those wonderful stories written by your fourth great-grandmother! She lived back in the 21st century. There's a lot to learn about the past, Son, in those pages."

Living in a New World

Stephen Colbert is sending his DNA into space. Have you read that the video game designer Richard Garriott was one of the few civilians planning to travel with the next astronauts into space? He wants to carry with him some cloning examples in case our world goes kaput. A new world can begin with cloning all the DNA that has been put in a time capsule and buried in outer space. What will this New World do with dozens of Colberts?

I need to be cloned. I’m not famous as Colbert, but my qualifications may well be as good as his. Who is his he? According to Wilkipedia:

“Stephen Tyrone Colbert (pronounced /koʊɫˈbεɹ/; born May 13, 1964
is an American comedian, satirist, actor and writer, known for his ironic style particularly in his portrayal of uninformed opinion leaders), and for his deadpan comedic delivery.”

You have to see him on Comedy Central to get a hint of this guy who wants a dozen or more like him to inhabit this New World.

Why can’t I be cloned?
I am not a comedian, although I make some folks laugh occasionally;
I am not a satirist, but can be biting in the defense of my principles;
I’ve had my chance at acting on theater stages and the stage of life;
I am a writer, of sorts, of many manuscripts still lying in desk
waiting to be dusted off, edited and sent into the arms of a waiting
publisher;
I am a person who is honest , forthright, sincere, hard working, nostalgic, romantic, friendly--well, just an all-round nice gal;

I’ve never cheated, physically injured anyone, stolen goods (well, I did take home a few sheets of copy paper once from school), served time in jail or the pen, had a DUI or a speeding ticket, held up a bank or a convenience store, embarrassed anyone (although a few students may disagree), disgruntled anyone (uh, oh, does a parent seeking school rule exceptions for his daughter count?), never been considered hoity toity, nor have I disowned my family (although I’ve entertained the idea occasionally).

So with all those good vibes strumming, why not nominate my DNA to begin a few good folks on the next planet, while my first soul basks in heavenly pastures?