My Life

Lost and Found

KarenPopeWrites

I (accidentally) watched a YouTube video about a current worldwide famous singing/dancing group and how they were continually losing personal items: sunglasses, phones, AirPods, passports, luggage, and tablets. Most of the time, it was another band member who took the item and hid it from the owner as a prank. FYI: This is NOT the normal video that I watch on YouTube, but it struck a chord with me and I found myself thinking, I know someone like that. A person who has, to my knowledge, left a small piece of herself at every location she has ever visited.

I give you my daughter as an example. Everywhere she went, and dare I say still goes, she left something behind. She would visit a friend and leave her sweater behind. She would leave her purse at home and not notice until she got to work, where she left her lunch box the day before. She left behind shoes, watches, and hair ties. Shoes? Seriously? How could you possibly leave a pair of shoes behind and not notice when you got into your car to leave? Just walking out to the car should have offered a clue that she was imitating Shoeless Joe Jackson.

She would go to a sleepover and leave her toothbrush and leave her wallet at the convenience store where she just bought gas and cigarettes.

At the end of each school year, she would bring home 7 or 8 sweaters and jackets. She would bring home extra shoes, backpacks, gym clothes, lunch boxes, papers, reports, and library books that I already paid for because she “lost” them.

On the upside, that gave her a new collection of things she could forget the next school year.

On the flip side of the coin, until recently, I never left anything behind. But, the mind starts to go as we age. I have left a zucchini in a friend’s car, a jacket in that same friend’s car, and a walking stick in the doctor’s office that I went back to get, just to name a few. I am slowly turning into my daughter.

That is not altogether a bad thing because I think she is one of the funniest and most delightful people I have had the pleasure to know in my life.

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash
My Life, Opinion

The Moonspinners

KarenPopeWrites

I heard someone say that a person should read a book 100 times and write a book 100 times. This article in the Guardian discusses this:

Author and columnist Stephen Marche, who has perused PG Wodehouse and Hamlet more than 100 times each, extols the virtues of literary repetition

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/feb/09/centireading-force-reading-book-100-times-great-idea

I tend to read and re-read books. It is like visiting an old friend and reminiscing about the good times we had. Of course, my choices are not nearly as lofty as Stephen Marche’s PG Wodehouse or Hamlet. My favorite book is called The Moonspinners, written by Mary Stewart. I read it the first time when I was a young teenager–maybe 12 or 13–and over the years have read it at least 1 or 2 times a year.

I wish now, I had kept track of how many times I have read it. I am certain at least 100 times.

Photo by Maria Krasnova on Unsplash

I bought a paperback version when I was a teen and over years I read it to death. The spine was broken and many pages were yellowed from age and dog-eared. The pages started falling out until I had a stack of papers that were not attached together. That book is now in a keepsake box and held together with a ribbon. I have since purchased a Kindle Version of the book so I don’t have to worry about losing pages 136 and 203.

I started reading the book again two days ago. The story is the same Gothic Romance I remember. I have passages from the book memorized and can quote literally pages of the story. It is the story of an English girl who goes to Crete on her Easter vacation and gets embroiled in a drama of murder, kidnapping, jewel heists, and intrigue. She encounters bad guys everywhere and barely escapes with her life and limbs intact. As a bonus, she gets the guy in the end.

My love affair with this story hasn’t dimmed over the years. In fact, reading it with much more mature eyes adds something to the story that I missed when I was a teen. Mary Stewart fully developed her heroines. No vapid, silly, immature girls here. They embody strength, virtue, athleticism, and courage.

Mary Stewart wrote many mystery romance stories and I have read them all. This one stands at the pinnacle…the best of the best.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27693.The_Moonspinners
My Life

Summer Personal Art Festival

KarenPopeWrites

Summer is here. That doesn’t mean I will be running in a bikini-clad body toward an ocean because with an arthritic hip that has no cartilage left, I will not be running anywhere. Summer means I can open my windows and remind the neighbors that I know all the words to “Hello, Dolly,” and everything Karen Carpenter ever recorded. Yeah, I am that neighbor. I sing loud AND off-key. Who cares?

The fact that I am not a good singer doesn’t matter. I just sing. I don’t need permission to sing.

In an interview with Tom Snyder about 30 years ago, Jeff Goldblum gave his rendition of the theme song to “Jurassic Park” with words that he wrote: “In Jurassic Park, scary after dark. I’m so scared I’ll be eaten.” He was not a good singer, either. He pointed out something that is so very true and so very sad at the same time.

According to Jeff, you go to a group of 5-year-olds and ask them, “Can you sing?” They will all say, “Yes! What do you want us to sing?” You can ask them if they play an instrument and they all say, “Yes! What do you want us to play?” You can ask them if they can draw and they all say, “Yes! What picture do you want?” You ask them if they can dance and they reply, “Yes! We love to dance!”

Fast forward just 10 very short years and asked those same questions to the same group of kids, and you hear answers like, “No, I can’t sing,” or “I only sing a little.” You will hear, “I play piano a little bit,” and, “I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler” and, “No, I can’t dance at all.”

What happens in that short ten years? Someone says, “Don’t quit your day job because you can’t sing,” “You piano playing sucks,” “What is THAT a picture of?” “Your dancing looks like a fawn on a frozen lake.”

Those enthusiastic 5-year-olds turn into bashful teenagers who are more interested in what others think than what they can actually do. Something is lost as we age and realize there are other people on planet earth besides ourselves. Everyone we meet gets totally judgey. And, those same people feel really bad when people judge them.

Kinda seems like we should all pay more attention to the Golden Rule. You know it. “Treat others how you want to be treated.” Sing out! Dance like crazy! Draw a picture! Learn to play the flute! You don’t need permission to dance, sing, or draw.

Photo by Austin Nicomedez on Unsplash
My Life, Writing

Today, June 1st

KarenPopeWrites

Today is my birthday. I normally just acknowledge that I have ticked off another year. There is no fanfare, no parties, no birthday cake. I don’t celebrate the event because a birthday is just the beginning. It is just the day I was born. I didn’t accomplish anything that day other than crying when the doctor smacked my bottom. Like everyone else, it was not an auspicious beginning.

I was not my mother’s precious gift from heaven that was delivered personally by God and several jealous angels. I was just another person who screeched into a parking spot on June 1st and stayed there for the past 68 years.

Every June 1st, I wonder why I get a ton of emails offering me 20% off because I happened to open my eyes and take a breath 68 years ago. I would rather someone celebrate the fact that I bought a house, or the fact that I was baptized, or the fact that I completed writing another novel, or the fact I received a Master’s Degree. Those things matter. Never, crying from shock and pain in those first tender moments of life outside the womb.

My accomplishments have nothing to do with June 1, 1954. I refuse to celebrate that day.

Photo by Hu Chen on Unsplash
music, Writing

Hiroshima

KarenPopeWrites

I was getting ready to start working on my story this morning and I found myself listening to music instead of writing. Listening to music often happens around here. Today’s playlist is Hiroshima. This band was named after the city in Japan that was mostly destroyed by an atomic bomb at the end of World War II. The band’s leader, Dan Kuramoto, wanted to create a band that represented and celebrated Asian Americans.

I have been listening to Hiroshima for many years because these people are GOOD. I love the way they have combined more traditional Japanese instruments, like the koto with Western instruments.

I frequently default to the Hiroshima playlist on my iPhone while I am writing. I put them in a smooth jazz category, but whatever their genre, they are fun to listen to.

Hiroshima 2022
My Life, Uncategorized, Writing

This Week

KarenPopeWrites

This week sped by at high speed and I am not sure why. I didn’t do anything special or anticipate anything upcoming. I have been writing, and working on a story that may or may not ever be shown to the public.

When I start writing, the world slips by me reasonably quickly. I get a good thought going and all of sudden I realize that I have been typing for four hours straight and my arthritic knees and hips are screaming for movement.

The first thing to do is create a well-thought-out strategy for getting out of my chair. Once I am verticle, I wait a few seconds to make sure my knees and hips will actually hold me up. Then, cane in hand, I make a few tottering steps toward the bathroom, usually.

It never fails to amaze me that I can get so into what I am writing that I am able to ignore basic bodily needs, such as a bathroom break or getting something to drink. For a time, I can ignore sore hips and aching knees.

But, this week I wrote nearly 20,000 words. *Pats self on the back.*

Photo by Jazmin Quaynor on Unsplash
Blog Entries, My Life

Imagination Confession

KarenPopeWrites

Maybe Willy Wonka had the right idea: “Come with me and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination.” I hear of people who are lost in a world of loneliness and despair because of the Covid-19 restrictions. Just maybe Willy had the solution. Create your own paradise in your imagination. There are no limits inside your head. Just go there!

In my head, I can find true love, adventure, excitement, and maybe even a chocolate factory. In my life I have imagined myself in many places doing many things. I have traveled to the moon as an astronaut, been the wife of a South American dictator, a 1990’s rock star, a ballet dancer, best friends with Queen Elizabeth, on an African safari with Bear Grylls, on a boat that circumnavigated Antarctica, and at dinner with Neil deGrasse Tyson. You get the idea.

I have imagined situations, delicious meals, epic champagne, euphoric conversations, heroic deeds and heroic rescues. Maybe Walter Mitty is a better analogy.

This has been a pattern for my entire life. I remember imagining being a telephone operator when I was just five or six and talking to Captain Kangaroo on the phone. I remember being a Monkee’s fan when I was barely a teenager who was found absolutely fascinating by Peter Tork. I remember being Mr. Spock’s best girl… the one who finally broke through his stoic exterior when I was a little bit older teen ager. I imagined our local mall being the shopping area of a city-sized space station orbiting earth. When I am driving, I am in the car with the Top Gear guys, showing them the sights in my fair city.

As I have gotten older, I still live in these worlds created in my head. Many have become stories that I will never get published, but will likely surprise my children after I am gone if they take the time to read through my google drive. “Mom did THAT????”

Photo by Héctor J. Rivas on Unsplash

Because of my imagination, I have lived through some of the most traumatic events in my life: losing 3 babies in infancy, house being foreclosed on, divorced from a man who was worthless, divorce proceedings where I got the shit beat out of me in a courtroom, 3 evictions, getting fired from jobs twice, losing my best friend/younger brother to HIV, traumatic car wreck, tragic love affair with another worthless man, and now, confined to my home by the threat of a deadly virus. Home is my haven when I can create yet another world. A coping mechanism.

Don’t worry about me. I have a firm foot in reality. Life doesn’t slip by me because I can’t see what is really in front of me. I get things done that must be done and when I am finished with the necessary responsibilities of adulthood, I can slip into the latest world I have created, which is, I must say, far better than anything I see on TV.

Today, I have a backstage pass to a BTS concert.

Blog Entries

Love/Hate Relationship with My Cell Phone Carrier

KarenPopeWrites

My 91 year old mother lives in an assisted living facility in Florida. Recently, every time I tried to call her, her phone would go straight to voice mail. After about two weeks she called me to tell me that her phone won’t hold a charge for more than a few minutes. Understandable because the phone is something like 7 years old.

So, being a good daughter who has paid for her cell service for the last 20 years, I decided to upgrade her current phone to one that would hold a charge.

The criteria was very simple. It had to be compatible with wireless charging, because a wireless charging pad seems a better solution for her than having to remember to plug a phone in, and not cost a lot of money. She only uses the phone for phone calls. She doesn’t check email, or text. Just phone calls. She doesn’t NEED a smart phone, but a flip phone isn’t wireless charging compatible.

Photo by Neil Soni on Unsplash

My cell phone carrier that I have used for the past 20 years is not, as it happens, very helpful unless I want to purchase the latest, best, brightest and most colorful smart phone. I sent my son to the store to try to pick a phone on the spot and take it to his grandmother since they live in the same city. He was reluctant to do this because of her overall demanding nature and her tendency to lay on heavy guilt trips… which work on him and irritates him when it does. However, I laid a quilt trip on him and he agreed to take on the mission.

But, a phone that matches my current criteria was not available at the store, so after another phone conversation with my son, I told him I would get one online, send it to his house and then he could make sure it was set up properly, gather his wireless charging pad and take the items to her.

The first person I chatted with online got the shipping address incorrect, so I contacted the carrier again and that address was changed to the correct one. But that time, I couldn’t get the credit card info to go through. I called to talk to a human being and got everything set up for the new phone to be sent to my son, but the call dropped and Will (The CS I was talking to) didn’t save any of the info, so I had to start over.

Ditto the same scenario with Cameron.

Finally, my son, who was going to pay for the activation fee because he felt sorry for me for having taken care of my mother’s cell phone for 20 years, sent the money directly to my bank, so I could use my debit card to pay for the freaking phone.

By this time, 4 hours have gone by while I tried to get a preowned iPhone XR, 64 GB in Blue to be sent to my son’s house. I was frustrated, irritated, exhausted and angry. While on the phone with my son, I said, “Jingjah!,” loudly, which is Korean for “Seriously!!!” My son asked, “Did you just swear at me in Korean?” I replied, “Yes, I did.” No English swear word seemed to fill the bill at that point.

The 3rd CS I talked to at the cell phone carrier actually was competent enough to handle my request which I thought initially should be a simple one. Eureka! An iPhone XR 64 GB in blue is on it’s way to my son’s house. Of course the delivery truck could be hit with a meteor or the package be stolen from his front porch. I am hopeful that 4 hours of dealing with a cell phone carrier has netted us a phone for my mother.

Now we wait.

Blog Entries, Blog List

Random Facts

KarenPopeWrites

My brain is full of useless information that is sometimes actually interesting to others. However, relating some of these facts during a party makes me a total bore (read know-it-all). I am NOT a know-it-all, and really don’t want to be accused of that, so I keep this stuff to myself. Well, not entirely.

Be prepared to be inundated with totally interesting but useless information that will make you, too, a know-it-all at parties.

Dance Music Can Discourage Mosquitos From Biting You

Photo by Syed Ali on Unsplash

According to Acta Topica, The electronic song “Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites,” by Skrillrex will inhibit sexual activity preventing the dengue vector Aedes aegypti from mating by disrupting the normal low frequency sounds they associate with mating. Good news, that! Turn it up!

Those Metal Studs on Your Jeans Actually Have a Name AND Serve A Purpose

Photo by Manny Moreno on Unsplash

Check out your favorite jeans and you will see those cute metal rivets (their actual name). According to Levi Strauss & Co these rivets add extra support to the fabric and help prevent the pockets from ripping. In 1873, Levi Strauss & Co. and Jacob Davis received U.S. Patent No. 139,121 for Improvement in Fastening Pocket-Openings. Thank you, guys! Well done.

The Collective Noun for Geese is Gaggle

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Everyone knows the collective noun for a group of geese is a gaggle. Did you know that a group of hippos is “Bloat?” Also, a group of penguins is a “tuxedo,” a group of bats is a “cauldron,” and a group of owls is a “parliament.” Do you know what doesn’t have a collective noun? Octopuses.

Last and certainly least:

A “Jiffy” is About One Trillionth of a Second

Photo by Veri Ivanova on Unsplash

According to Dictionary.com, in the late 18th or early 19th centuries, scientist Gilbert Newton Lewis defined a jiffy as the amount of time it takes light to travel one centimeter in a vacuum, about 33.4 picoseconds. That’s one trillionth of a second. Quite the jiffy.