Kindergarten and Book Tours!

It's the first day of school. Kindergarten. I must have been worried the day before. Worried and excited. Would the other children know something I was supposed to know? Just in case, I pulled as many books out of our library as I could handle at five years of age, and stacked them on the porch of our house on Maplewood Avenue. When my mother saw me she asked what I was doing. "I'm starting school tomorrow," I told her, "so I have to know how to read." Somewhere there's a photo taken that day.

Tomorrow is the "first day of school" again, our first discussion and reading at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena, Fran's neck of the woods, though some of my old and dear friends will be there. I don't feel nervous, and I am excited, but deep down I wonder if there's something I should know that everybody else knows. I'm no longer five, I've learned the bulk of what I need to get through life, but is there something else? If only I could remember, but "remember" is probably just what I need to know.

If "remember" is that "something," I confess to it. Memory is a problem that seems to come with age, at least for me. If I've seen a movie I struggle to remember the title days later. I no longer know the hottest stars, though I certainly recognize familiar names from my world, the editing community. My husband and I have learned to compensate with lists and quips about "senior moments." I'm not as facile with the quizzes in the "In Flight" magazines, and I often find myself reading the same paragraph several times to process what I've just read.

What has not diminished, however, is a deepening appreciation for my life and the lives of those I love. My older sister Fran has always been in my life. We've shared every emotion. Who would have expected us to share in the publication of "Feeding Mrs. Moskowitz and The Caregiver" and begin this book tour together? Thank God we're friends! Now, let the adventure begin! Wait a minute....where did we put the airline tickets?

Saying Goodbye...

I'm off to California tomorrow to begin the book tour for "Feeding Mrs. Moskowitz and The Caregiver," and while it's exciting to begin this adventure and reconnect with old friends, it's also necessary to say 'goodbye," for a while, to my life in Woodstock.


Taking leave of my husband is a complicated matter. It's the longest we've been apart in the eighteen years we've been together, and it's also the arena where the practical and emotional collide. I'll be away for nearly a month, and he'll have to take over some of the many tasks I normally do to keep our life together running smoothly. There are lists to be made, bills to be paid, endless details to attend to. Then there's our vacation rental business. He's never been "hands on," but that's about to change -- at least for a while. And of course, I'll miss him.


I'll miss my many friends, our dog Lucy, my kitchen, the vegetable garden I'm entrusting to a neighbor, and the awkward, amusing wild turkey family that sometimes crosses our road. The delightful Woodstock Wednesday Farm Festival will begin in my absence, as will the Saturday Flea Market where odd little treasures can be unearthed.




Aside from Lucy the dog, I've grown fond of other creatures. I save my vegetable scraps for a lively flock of chickens who live nearby. Their eggs always delicious and never "uniform" like those found in stores, are special treats for guests staying at The Waterfall House. This year's flock includes hens that lay green eggs. I love feeding the chickens and chose to spend time with them on my birthday this past winter.



Then there's the cow and the calf and the horse. I like to take the long way home by the pasture so I can spend a few moments with these creatures. I first saw the calf a few days after her birth. She's grown. She's a little "Buddha" calf. When she's not nursing or exploring the meadow, she sits on her haunches gazing at the newness of her world. Her mother, a black beauty with a white blaze on her face, is never far from her, nor is Thunder, the wild mustang. A neighborhood woman who visits daily has only to call his name, and the horse comes running to eat the carrots she brings. He's generous with his big, sloppy kisses and loves to nuzzle the woman. Stopping to spend a few moments in this pastoral setting is a meditation.

The poppies will bloom, the calf will grow bigger, and I will have stories to tell, so please "stay tuned" and ride this adventure with me.

Barbara

How We Decide!

My husband has been reading the best-seller "How We Decide," by Jonah Lehrer, a book about decision making. Over breakfast, he told me why, according to scientific research, there is a gene which causes some people to make the same poor choices over and over again, not learning from their mistakes.

I don't think I fall into that unfortunate category, but I got to thinking about some of the choices I've made in my life, and why I made them. Some were clearly rational decisions, such as deciding to get a teaching credential after a year of poorly-paid, boring office work. On the other hand, leaving teaching after two years, falls into the emotional category. After my first year of teaching English in an inner-city high school in L.A. I took my first trip to Europe with two girl friends. We did it up right -- Eurail passes, numerous countries from England, to Portugal, Spain, France, Italy, Austria and Germany. Adventures galore.

In the fall, I returned to work and looked around the teachers' lounge at the veterans. They were worn-down, discouraged, complaining constantly about the students, principal, and parents! Did I want to be one of them in thirty years? Europe had shown me there was a big, exciting world outside of the teachers' lounge. I finished the year and quit.

Which decision was smarter? I believe both were good. I had the credentials and eventually became a substitute (no homework to correct) and knew I would always have something to fall back on. Quitting allowed me to try my wings at more adventurous jobs, such as the assistant to the general manager of the play, "Hair."

Looking back, most of my important decisions seem to have worked out for the best, however, there is one I wonder about. During that exploratory period I was offered a low level position in a literary agency. I was an English major; loved reading. I turned it down because the commute seemed inconvenient. Hard to believe in retrospect. I cannot help wondering what my life would have been had I taken the job. Would I have become a respected literary agent? I think I'd have made a good one. Maybe one of the good things about life is not knowing how things might have been.

I wonder if others also wonder about the fork in the road and consequences of the road not taken.

Fran