Recovering Youth – The Exuberance of the Young

“Hello, my name is Jan Verhoeff and I’m recovering from youth.” My attendance at the Senior Center had been recognized and I was forced to join the twelve step program for the prevention of exuberance. No where in all my youth had I prepared for this experience. I had no clue from the many times I’d visited the Senior Center with my friends and family that there were so many rules about the Senior Center. Nor had I cared.

I mean… I read the signs that said no skateboarding. Those signs made sense and were understood. After all, someone might break a bone, but did you see the look on that lady’s face when I laughed at the knock knock jokes on the back of their daily program? Is humor not allowable in her either?

Later, I was caught playing with a toy on the counter and given a resounding slap to the fingers by a matronly woman of 55 as she walked past. I won’t forget her hand print in the near future. But the ultimate shame came when I was passing out the fliers for a speaking engagement I was supposed to do in the dining hall after lunch and an elderly woman gave me a “true looking over” when my fingers inadvertently touched her husband’s fingers. If I ever do that again, I’ll probably sprout horns and die the wretched death  of a frog on the highway. SPLAT!!

These  daring young adults dare to laugh and have a good time on a nearby lawn, enjoying the pleasant summer afternoon, long before the onset of winter, where snow days outnumber sunny afternoons and the grasses grow weathered and brown.

Dare we entertain exuberant youth in our communities, as the aging among us slip off toward the winters of life, when our youthful exuberance risks notification of a local senior authority? We must risk it all for the fun of a little good times in the sun, youth or the aging, take a risk. Have some fun!

The Writer in Me – A Journal of Survival

A few weeks ago I had a conversation with Oris George,  the back roads of yesterday guy who writes about mules and such stuff as comes about on those back roads where real folks rarely wonder. He mentioned something I’d written and said, “It’s really good. You ought to sell that.”

I went off half-cocked and wrote a query letter to a popular editor/publisher and ended up with a contract to… uh… sell that. What I’d actually written was little more than a title and a few paragraphs of plot, which could go many directions, but I chose to send it down the road of mystery/suspense where I rarely ever go. Not that there’s anything wrong with sitting on the edge of your chair turning pages one after another to get to the end of the book and find out if your hero survives, I just never wrote that stuff before.

So, sitting on my desk, in front of my face on any given morning is an acceptance of a story genre I’ve never written before. Thus far, I’ve gotten about 4500 words and it’s due in a few months, along with several other projects, jobs, and items of work type nature… In fact, the book is due on or about the same date as my third grandchild.

But that reference has nothing what-so-ever to do with the book, just a general concept of I’d better hurry, because I don’t want a looming deadline arriving with a baby due any minute. Babies don’t wait, and looming deadlines must be met.

And yet, here I sit stumbling over the words of the suspenseful novel, waiting inspiration beyond – it was a dark and gloomy night. It’s rather over used, droll, and… Sorry Ava, but… Rather Ava Betz-ish. It has been, often, one of her favorite comments when we start writing those suspenseful pieces in writer’s group, because she knows I’m going to dream up a thunderstorm. “The thunder rolls…” is one of my favorite starting lines for just about anything, because once I get the thunder rolling out of my way, I can get down to writing something of value.

It’s my white page, black-out. You know, those words that settle onto the page first, to remove the fear of white page addiction, which has been known to cause writer’s block in the fairest of writers. Once we’re addicted to the white page, we lack the sensibility to add words and get beyond our addiction. It’s a disease that has stumped many writer’s next books and prevented many Wurlitzer Prize winners from accomplishing their goals.

The psychosis of writing is much the same as the psychotic mania that spurs my hero into action in the thriller I’m currently writing. The desire to accomplish that which is irregular or unusual, while making a statement for humanity drives a strong pulse to continue. Where does the need to stop insanity come from in a sane world? Isn’t it normal to have moments of ridiculous tumultuous experience and a sense of crisis in each day of living?

So, what is so different from putting those thoughts and feelings into a book and calling it suspense and mystery? The doom and gloom of daily living is surely enough suspense to carry us through a thriller crime story filled to the brim with mayhem and chaos, right?

And yet… In a very literary sense, the book must go on.

After an intense conversation with my daughter (who has an incredible sense of knowledge about profiling) I found my weakness in writing to be at least half as great as the profile required to create a psychotic killer in my book. With that knowledge and at least five Sydney Sheldon’s sitting on the shelf, I’ve determined that I can do this. I will write this book, fulfill this contract and beat down the demons that keep saying that I can’t write this book. I can, I will and they can’t stop me!

News Today – Life in an Uproar

I just opened my eyes. The dark and stormy night had me bewitched into thinking I was sleeping. I realized when I opened my eyes that I’d merely been working horizontal. My body feels like I was lumber-jacking. I may have sounded like it last night too. I don’t know where the truck is that hit me last night, but somebody ought to stop that guy from driving.

It isn’t that I had a bad night, it’s this head cold that showed up about the time I arrived home from the Constitution Meeting last night. Speaking of Constitution, I’m thrilled at the response to the Constitution Meetings that are rising up in our community. I was shocked that there are so few women involved in the meeting. Nita and I decided if they try to take away our right to vote, we’ll stop bringing cookies. That should solve the problem of women’s rights!

I’m listening to the radio this morning, Eric Stone chatters up the War in Iraq, while Ty Harmon chips in with comments on Afghanistan. And the talk turns to a plane crash in Amsterdam.

Foreclosures are down in Colorado, already this year. Glaciers in Antarctica are melting faster than previously thought… Could the Arkansas River rise?

The question of the day.

“Will Jaws be a few feet closer to shore?” Eric Stone is highly concerned about the effect of the rising ocean waters on Southeastern Colorado.

And the pillow won. I gave up my blanket and my nice cozy bed, and I’m in here working while the pillow sleeps to prepare for tonight’s wrestling match.

Obama has promised a land of milk and honey, I don’t think I’m following him through Egypt.

The poles are melting and they expect Denver to be beach front property within two years, perhaps I’ll keep that house instead of selling. It’ll be worth more in two years. The world is a snowball on a down hill run, we’re gathering flakes and speeding up.

Jan Verhoeff

(Currently reporting the news as it happened on “Anything Goes” in Lamar, Colorado.)

Pat Palmer invites all to the Pitstop for a Thursday Taco.

Bad Hair Days – The Dire Necessity of Overcoming

It’s always the bad hair day that gets the blame, no matter what you accomplish in life, if you’ve had a mishap and failed at some stark necessity of living… You can blame it on a bad hair day.

Such was yesterday.

Dressed for success means fixing my hair – a bit more than just sweeping it off my face, behind my ear or into a ponytail (if it was long enough – which it isn’t right now). So, I showered and dried my hair in the usual way, upside down looking at my knee caps under the towel I wear wrapped and tucked for modesty in an empty bathroom. Okay, perhaps it’s because seeing myself in the miror might be shocking, but the mirror only comes to just below my shoulders, I think I’m safe. But, what if someone walks in?

It’s the weather. I’m certain of it, there must have been a storm coming in that cause my usually well behaved hair to go limp as a biscuit on Sunday afternoon. Seriously, who needs hair anyway? It’s just the covering for the top of your head and looks a bit disheveled unless you’re one of those fortunate few who have all the time perfectly behaving hair. Wait! I don’t know anyone like that.

So, the reality is… my hair misbehaves.

My son suggested I blame the wind. My mother, bless her heart, asked if I’d combed my hair - she’s one of those with perfectly behaving hair all the time women – sports a tube of VO5 and claims it works miracles. UGH! Greasy hair day — oh, definitely I’d rather have a bad hair day.

So, I ask myself, is having a bad hair day enough of an excuse to skip the day all together? Perhaps… I’m thinking I might. Then I realize… Life is going on without me. I can either stay home and bemoan a bad hair day, wishing I could be perfect like… ummm… someone else. Or, I can get out there and play the hand I’ve drawn, for better or worse and make the best of my day.

In the course of the bad hair day, I managed to attend a funeral and comfort friends, experienced the love of friends who said nothing at all about my hair, and inspired another friend with what may possibly be the funniest story he’s ever written. I can’t wait to see the publication.

And today, the wind has come up and is blowing off the shingles, so my hair won’t matter a bit.

Overcoming a bad hair day just simply means you got up and went at it again. Let me part my bangs so I can see where I’m headed today!

Burning Desire to Succeed – Writer Eulogies

For some really strange and weird reason, the thought of writing a biography errupted through the process of an interview yesterday with Danielle Simone. I’d been considering a biography, simply because there are things about my life that I believe my grandchildren (okay, I only have one now) might want to know at some point. Not because I’m a famous person or because I’m even someone who made a great impact on the planet, I believe I’ve left a relatively small footprint thus far, although, I’ve made a difference. But, rather because I’ve been an integral part of the lives of their parents.

Beyond my own grandchildren, there may be a few who would be interested in the life I’ve lived. Probably a few more who don’t give a rinky-dink about anything I have to say, anything I’ve accomplished, or anything that might have been caused by the fact that I raced time across planet earth, somewhere during the late 1900’s. To those folks, I can only say, you’ll never know what you’ve missed by not knowing me. To those who did know me, I’d want to thank you for making an impact on my life, for the breathless moments you shared with me, and for the breath taking moments we experienced together.

The real reason I’ve been thinking about a biography is that I have noticed successful writers have one that spills out the joy of writing and shares the purpose of their lives. Once joy and purpose are spilled out, success appears. A biography doesn’t have to be long or accomplished to be important, it can be simply a statement of joy and purpose. (I’ve been told, I’m redundant. I disagree.) I want mine to be an expression of the joy I’ve lived, the care and concern I’ve given others, and a gift of love that I can give back to my children and grandchildren.

An Epitat goes on the headstone, and mine should read “A blessing in word, deed, and seed. She has wonderful children.” Of course, it would be best if my ex-husband’s were not asked. I’m most certain they’d have a different epitat for me. Of course, I have a few blessed words for them as well, so if you don’t ask, I won’t tell.

The Eulogy is read after the demise, and most often written by the heirs of the demised (hopefully prior to the reading of the will). This short description of the dash between the years of birth and death leaves those behind with a view of a warm fuzzy person, caring and sharing, and often missed.

The biography, on the other hand, recognizes the importance of life before it is complete. Most often a Biography tells the story of how the person lived, the joy they gave to others, and the purpose of their life. A bio shares the philosophy and the concerns of the person and reveals the attempts at success as well as the achievements. But, more than anything else a biography does, the simple profound fact that a writer has a biography often implies the writer (or person) has accomplished something of value.

The value of a person’s accomplishments may be perceived differently from one person to another. Whether a writer offers great provisions and receives great awards may not be the only determination of value, but it probably has significant impact on their readers. At some point in life, I aspire to receive a pulitzer. The bigger goal is to write for people who read, to share the joy and the purpose of my life and to glean power and prestige for what is good and whole in life.

The Burning Desire to Succeed rests in my daily drive to complete my goal of loving more, giving freely, and sharing the most.

Burning Bush – The Warning of God

Well, the election is over.

I’d like to say I’m happy with the turn out, and although I realize it’s a choice of the majority. I have to admit that I’m not too happy. It didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to turn out. I’m not sorry that the majority of people had their say. I’m sad that the majority of people out there voted a baby killer into office. I can’t imagine where this next Presidential term will take us, and to be honest, I’d rather not. I’m trying very hard to focus on the good, the pleasant, and the positive.

With a Democrat in office, there’s that promise of rainbow stew and FREE bubble up as Merle Haggard so aptly put it in the late 60’s. As with the rest of the world, I’d like to think there might be a FREE LUNCH available. But, in reality, I’m not a fan. I know there’s a payday eventually and I don’t want to know the cost of four years of rainbow stew.

This blog is about writing, and today… I’m writing my thoughts. These are hopes, aspirations and dreams of an American girl.

I know that in reality, I will be the one who determines where my life goes. I understand that the presidential election only changes the general political concept, not the foundation of who I am and who America is. So, ultimately, my world isn’t changing much. The fabric from which I’m cut is still strong and secure in the knowledge that God is the head of my world and with Him, there is nothing I should fear. Therefore, I’m comfortable to lean on God and allow Him the power over Obama and future political issues.

But then, I look at the political fiber of the past two years and begin to think of the way our nation has strapped President Bush to the stake and lit the fire beneath him. President Bush stood tall and strong when our nation faced the greatest crisis of my lifetime, 9-1-1. This man took on his shoulders the weight of a nation brought down by terrorists and has literally be beaten to a verbal pulp over financial choices he didn’t make. His solutions to these problems may or may not have been the right ones, but he made them in good faith, as the President of this nation. He didn’t deserve to be burned at the stake for making choices when others faultered and fell. He deserves our support and encouragement as his term comes to an end and he returns to civilian life.

President Bush deserves the blessings of God and this country for his strength, his reserve, and his caring presence when this nation was in trouble. He deserves our gratitude and appreciation for a job well done, even when it wasn’t the best of times.

So, when you’re out there burning Bush and ripping him to shreds, consider for a moment that the last time there was a burning Bush – God warned the world. This may be a warning!