So Many Forces

A few years ago I noticed that all of my novels feature strong female characters. I never set out intentionally to do this; it’s just something that happened. Personally, I’ve always been attracted to strong women, successful women, smart women. I guess without a sexual attraction to women, that was next in line. I was surprised when I realized this, and wondered what possible influence could have been responsible.

And then Carrie Fisher died.

Of all the horrible things that have happened in 2016 (including my cancer diagnosis) this upset me the most. Why would that be? People die all the time; death is a part of everyone’s life.

Then I started seeing clips from Fisher’s films on the news.

Perhaps the appeal of strong women stems from her portrayal of Princess Leia in “Star Wars” which I saw as a teenager when it premiered in 1977. She was sure plucky, and smart, and strong willed. I’ve always enjoyed the movies of strong female actors: Barbara Stanwyck, Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Ida Lupino -- but those all came after. It must have been my subconscious working when I began writing my novels featuring strong female characters. 

Whatever the inspiration, I was impressed by Fisher and her performance in “Star Wars” and am very sad that she died so young -- even after living such an adventurous life.

Books I’m Reading

Am reading this.

Just finished reading this.

All Our Todays

Today is notable for which of the following reasons?

A: It is the 75th anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
B: It is the day NBC will air “Hairspray Live!”
C: It is the one-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis

All three are correct.

It’s kinda hard to believe I’ve already made it through my first year of cancer. When I look back at everything that’s happened in the last year, I’m amazed: diagnosis (on Pearl Harbor day, of all days), kidney biopsy, bone marrow biopsy, chemo, chemo and more chemo, edema swelling my legs like an elephant’s, debating with my doctor about reducing my chemo levels, having the low blood numbers go higher and the high levels go lower (both good things), reducing the amount of water I drink each day, reducing the amount of sodium I consume each day, emerging from it all “technically in remission” yet knowing all of this will be part of my life until I die.

I’m constantly amazed when people say “I’m sorry” when they find out I have cancer. “Don’t be,” I tell them. “It could be worse.” At least I didn’t die in a plane crash; I have a heads up. I had one doctor recently tell me I had a cynical/positive attitude about my cancer. “I’d rather think of it as a ‘shit happens’ attitude,” I said. We all have our problems and this is mine.

Many people say their first year of cancer was the worst. If I look back on my situation in the years to come and find that to be true, then that's okeh. It's been a bad year (that could certainly have been much worse); but maybe the "worst" is behind me now and we'll run the course on cruise control. I certainly hope so.

Shoe, Meet the Other Foot

At a recent family-in-law gathering, one guest (noticing that our anniversary was a few days away) asked how Matt and I met. I explained that I was working for a newspaper as a theater critic reviewing a musical and Matt sat next to me. The usual questions followed: do you remember the name of the show (“Crazy For You”), did you like it (**** out of *****), etc.

She then asked me if I had ever written a bad (i.e. negative) review. I told her I had, but even for the worst shows I always tried to include at least one good thing from the production. It might be a specific performance, the production design (which, honestly, can make or break a show), or a moment in a scene. I never wanted my readers to say, “He hates it, we won’t go.” I wanted them to say, “Hey, he says this one actor was really good. Let’s go check it out.” I never found pleasure in writing a negative review; it always pained me. I had been active in theater for many years prior and I knew first hand how hard people work to put on a show. Productions might fail for a variety of reasons, but I doubt passion is ever one of them. 

Now, twenty years since I stopped reviewing theater, the tables have been turned.

Five years ago I began writing novels with the goal of writing them and getting them published. Anything that happened after that was just icing on the cake -- except in the case of negative reviews. Most of the reviews for my thirteen books have ranged from average to excellent. Only on a few occasions have I gotten a negative review -- a couple of them pointedly mean. I try really hard not to let the negative reviews bother me, but they do.

Each time it happens, I think back to my years working for different newspapers and the various types of subjects (theater, books, social events, dance and opera) that I reviewed and the fact that I always tried to be nice. I might not have always succeeded, but at least I was never intentionally mean.

It’s Like an Addiction

You know how people say an addict won’t change unless s/he wants to? No matter what you say, it won’t matter if the addict doesn’t want to change? The same can be said for moving into new technologies: unless you really want to move in that direction, you won’t -- no matter what anyone tells you.

Despite years of resistance, I am now a convert to GPS technology. I grew up in scouting, learning how to read maps (a dead art now, I’m sure). I always traveled with paper maps. I didn’t need (or want) fancy technology. With our recent trip to Glendale, California -- and the need to drive the windy Hollywood Hills at night, during rush hour -- I decided to try a GPS program. I’m now hooked.

Dale (what we named our GPS voice in honor of our vacation) got us to our Hollywood Hills destination with no problem. It was a little tricky getting back to the hotel because we couldn’t get a connection in the hills, so we had to backtrack by memory until we got out of the hills and onto flat land (successfully). Otherwise, the GPS got us to all our destinations with only one glitch (guiding us in the wrong direction for parking at the Broad museum downtown Los Angeles).

I guess I can say I’m now environmentally conscious of the need to conserve paper (as in paper maps) and will bow to Dale’s wishes whenever we travel.

Books I'm Reading

Am reading this (again).

Just finished reading this.

TGIF -- Sometimes

For most people, Fridays are the start of happy times and a great weekend. When I was a kid, Friday night promised either a night of great happiness or great terror. It was a coin toss -- until the clock struck 6:00 p.m.

For a large chunk of his life, my father was an alcoholic. He didn’t drink all the time, but when he did it was bad. His favorite time for drinking was after work Friday. I don’t necessarily blame him. He had a job that was physically tough and he worked hard to provide us a life free of want (mostly). But there were times he needed to drink and get drunk.

On the good Fridays, when he came home right after work (before 6:00 p.m.), he might have picked up fried chicken for dinner, we might have dinner at home, or go to a local fast-food place (which was exotic to a young kid back then).

From my personal collection.

On the most special nights of all, we would go to a restaurant called Jack’s (see photograph) on the northwest corner of McDowell Road and the I-17 freeway near downtown Phoenix. Jack’s offered all-you-can-eat fish fry or chicken and dumplings. I almost always got the fish -- along with a build-it-yourself balsa-wood airplane from the waitress.

If the clock struck 6:00 p.m. and he wasn’t home yet, we knew it was going to be a bad night. I’ll spare you details of what happened on those nights. But there was one particular bad night I remember vividly -- even though it happened more than 45 years ago.

During summer, I would sometimes walk to a public swimming pool. I would walk home; or my mother or father would pick me up after work. On this particular Friday, it was my father’s turn. The pool closed (probably around 6:00 p.m.), so I left and waited outside. I don’t know what time it was that my father showed up (although it had already gotten dark -- and it gets dark very late here in summer), but I was so happy to see his white truck pull up. I got in (ignoring the liquor smell), shut the door and we started home. When we stopped at an intersection, I glanced over and saw my father’s right arm covered in fresh blood from a huge gash. Terrified, I started screaming and crying. Turns out my father got in a fight outside the bar with “some Mexican” and the other person slashed him.

Books I’m Reading

Am reading this.

Just finished reading this.

The Sodium Chronicles

My cancer affects the efficiency of my kidneys. If I eat too much sodium, my body retains water because my kidneys can’t filter out the sodium as quickly as they used to. So, too much sodium and I retain water; retaining water leads to edema, which leads to weight gain and additional strain on my kidneys making me a generally unhappy camper.

It’s taken me a while to figure out that a certain meal eaten at a restaurant one day leads to a weight gain the next. Research pinpointed sodium as the culprit. Further research indicates that I pretty much cannot eat any meals at any restaurants ever again (it would seem).

Keeping in mind that the daily recommended maximum of sodium is 2,000 mg, I’m trying to eat no more than 1,000 mg of sodium at lunch (and very little at breakfast and dinner). This means I can’t eat Pei Wei’s Pad Thai any more because it has (get ready) more than SIX THOUSAND mgs of sodium in a bowl. A wrap at Jersey Mike’s has more than 2,200 mgs (I can eat half today and half tomorrow, I suppose). A wrap at Chipotle has more than 2,300 mgs.

This is only a problem when I eat out. At home, eating low sodium is a breeze: cook from scratch, don’t add salt to foods, etc. Easy peasy. But, who doesn’t like to eat out once in a while? I know I do (or, I did).

Books I’m Reading

Am reading this.

Just finished reading this.