Whimsical Observations on Life

My New Side Hustle: Picking Up Meds

Growing up in New York City, I was warned not to do drugs. And drugs back then were everywhere. In school. On the street. In the subway. A nickel bag could be had just by walking through a park, not to mention the neighborhood fast-food joint, where you could order more than just a burger and fries. But no one prepared me for the day when I’d spend my time standing in a long line at the local pharmacy to pick up my meds. Drugs, drugs, drugs everywhere, and not a rave, party, or concert in sight. Just older adults who appear surprised when they reach the pharmacy counter and are asked the same tired questions. “Birthdate? Address? Do you need to speak with the pharmacist?” Geesh, I silently groan as another person fumbles with their credit card. Why can’t we keep this line moving? My feet are starting to hurt.

My Answers Are Ready

As I wait my turn, I start practicing, as if this is an oral exam I expect to ace. “1/9/56. 26th Street, and no, thank you.” But all the while I’m thinking as I look around and focus on the others in line, I don’t belong here. My peeps. My peers. Oh brother. When did I get this old? Am I this old?  I groan as I struggle to pull up my pants. Why do they keep slipping down? I blame my cell phone, wallet, and keys. It’s too much weight to manage. But why isn’t my belt holding my pants up? The belt is cinched so tight I can barely breathe. How far up on my waist should the top of my pants sit? And how come I can see the top of the butt crack of the guy in front of me? Ugh. Are we all losing our pants? Has this become a national emergency?

The Line is Finally Moving

Hurray! The confusion at the counter seems to have cleared. It won’t be long now. I pull my phone from my pocket. I’m convinced it’s acting like an anchor. As I wait, I scan the phone for important messages as if  I’m about to receive an important message. Nope. Just the same old same old. Why am I convinced that this darn cell phone needs to be with me 24/7?  Good job, Apple. You’ve monetized my weakness. My fear of missing out. My inability to exist quietly with my own thoughts. I must carry this ridiculous phone everywhere for entertainment, instead of engaging in meaningful conversation with the people around me. It occurs to me to suggest to the gentleman in front of me that he might want to pull up his pants. Instead, I instinctively pull up my own. Just in case the person behind me is having the same thought.

And Now for Something a Little Extra!

This month, we’re participating in a promotion for readers to win a Kindle and discover some awesome authors (including me!). Check out the promotion by clicking here.  And yes, my new novel Friends for A Season is still on track to appear in April. Yahoo! Book #5. I’m excited for the launch and hope you’ll grab a copy then. Until we next connect, have a fantastic March!

 

The Art of Staying Focused…Or How to Write A Great Novel

You can take classes. You can listen to speakers. You can knock your head against the wall. But in the end, the only way to write and finish a novel is to sit down and do the work. No matter how distracting the world might be. No matter the number of interruptions life puts in your path. The trick remains…focusing. I know a thing or two about the matter since I’ve been working on a new novel for nearly three years. Three years! Ugh. Now, how can that possibly be? Let’s talk.

My Novel Excuses (I Love the Play on Words):

  1. Sugar shortage. I’ve been trying to eliminate sugar from my diet to combat my growing glucose intolerance. No, I’m not diabetic. But why court danger? Still, the sweet snacks and high-carb treats have been a mainstay in my life. Do I miss them? You bet. And once again, I’ve added fasting to my weekly routine. I hate fasting. Has any of this improved my powers of concentration? Nope. Instead, I’m reminded of those poor people who opted on the last night of the Titanic’s maiden voyage to pass on dessert. If life is finite, and it most certainly is, what’s the point of passing on dessert? The only plausible reason is to safeguard your health. Grrr!
  2. Hearing. If you’ve been following my blog, you know I had a tumor removed from my only good ear, which has significantly affected my hearing. Through this process, I learned an important lesson. If you can’t hear, you’re at a high risk of developing dementia. Now, I don’t have dementia (at least, not yet), but I did find that during the three months that I couldn’t hear, my brain underwent some changes. There actually was a period when I had trouble following what others were saying to me. And once my hearing came back, it took a while to process language again. It was the oddest thing. And hard to explain. But it was real. Very real. And very scary.
  3. Heart valve replacement. When it rains, it pours. Or is it just that as you age, you start to fall apart? Anywho, I also had an aortic heart valve replacement last January. That’s open-heart surgery to the uninitiated. Yippee do dah. That literally took months to come back from. Truth be told, I’m still working on bouncing back from that little episode.

Excuses, Excuses

I could go on. I could share that I’ve become addicted to Instagram. I wish it weren’t true. But it is. I’ve spent hours scrolling through nonsense and enjoyed every minute. Still, it’s an amazing time waster. And then, my desk chair. I need to replace that thing. Or maybe I should learn how to work standing up. That’d be better for my keister. Oh sure, I’ve got a million excuses. But that said, there is good news on the horizon. My novel is nearly ready. In January, the cover design will start. So we are getting closer. And what’s the new book about? Here’s a sample from the back cover:

When Helena, an octogenarian, takes a tumble, she’s certain her life as an independent woman is over. In her youth, she’d been a mother, author, and nationally known women’s rights activist. But now she’s scared and alone, certain the world has forgotten her. Faced with moving into a retirement community, Helena struggles to adjust her expectations, even as Julie, the quirky activities director, wrangles her into mentoring Zak, a college freshman, in this intergenerational novel about the friendship that blossoms between two people on opposite ends of life’s journey.

Let’s hope that I get this book done before I fall in love with TikTok or some other nutty social media fad. I’m so susceptible!

And Now for Something A Little Extra!

This month, we’re providing a free ebook of over seventy essays in What’s That Growing in My Sour Cream? If you ever wondered what’s going on in my head, this is the book to own. To grab a copy, click on the link. In the meantime, here’s wishing you and your family a terrific Thanksgiving!

What’s Your Side Hustle?

Picking up meds at the pharmacy has become my side hustle. How do I know? Well, for one thing, the pharmacist seems to know my name. I still provide my birthdate and confirm my address, but let’s get real. The guy knows me. Which is surprising since for years, I never took any medications. None, nada, zip. But now, I’m a regular pill-popping fool.  Of course, I blame this all on my aortic heart valve replacement in January.  I still remember the look of surprise on the surgeon’s face when I told him that I didn’t take any medications. He smirked. Well, maybe he didn’t exactly smirk (that would be so unprofessional), but he did say in a brassy voice, “That’s over now.” And sadly, he was right. Darn.

Pill Boxes

I’m now the exclusive owner of a variety of pill boxes. Where they’ve come from (probably my husband, Jeff), I don’t know. I have the one-week and the two-week design. The AM/PM version and a small pocket version. One is a tiny wooden number with my name on it. It hales from a trip years ago to Hoover Dam. Because it had my name on it, I bought it. I don’t even think I realized at the time that it was a pill box. After all, what would I ever do with a pill box back then? Oh, sweet days of youth!

How Many Do I Need?

Now, when we travel, I must be mindful of all the pretty pills. Count them ahead of time to make sure I have enough for the journey. But instead of using the pill boxes (yes, I’m boycotting those suckers), I toss the separate pill bottles into a large plastic bag. With a jiggle and shake, I could imitate Carmen Miranda with her maracas. But I won’t. I’m much too grumpy to be playful. Each pill feels like an assault on my manhood. Yes, I have a very delicate ego. And all these pills are doing nothing to make me feel empowered.

When Did I Get So Old?

The truth is, modern science is to be thanked for our longevity. The United States’ life expectancy has steadily climbed since the mid-19th century. We used to kick the bucket in our late 30s. And now many of us can become centenarians. It just requires a few pills. Why not think of them as magic jellybeans? That’s one way of shifting perspective. And I’m all about shifting perspective!

Now, for Something a Little Extra!

Good news! My next novel, Friends for A Season, has finally made its way to the copy editor. It’s been a long haul getting this little gem off my desk. Some works take forever to create, and this novel is one of them. The novel follows Helena, an older woman who takes a nasty tumble and thinks her life is over until she meets a young college student struggling with his own life issues. It’s a powerful intergenerational story. I’m hoping you’ll love it as much as I do. Until the next time we meet, have a great September. And if you haven’t had a chance to check out What’s That Growing in My Sour Cream? – over sixty humorous essays on life – you can download a free ebook here. There’s nothing like a free read to give your day a boost!

A Mother’s Day Tale: Eight Ducklings

It happens every year. A male and female duck arrive for a fast dip in the pool. And who can blame them? It’s not like anyone is using our pool in May. Until the temperature in Phoenix has surpassed 100 degrees, our pool is mostly a water feature. Something that you look at from the kitchen window. It’s just too cold to swim when the temperature is only 70 degrees outside. I know. 100 degrees seems way too hot to be outdoors. But in Phoenix, we call it a dry heat! As if that could ever justify the intensity of our oven-like summers. Anywho, this year, things were different. The ducks didn’t leave after their first few laps around the pool. This year, the pair stayed through the mating season, building a nest in our backyard and eventually delivering eight beautiful ducklings.

Quick – Grab the Binoculars

For 28 days, I was mesmerized by the female on her nest. Did she just switch positions? Is that her tail sticking up? Oh. See how she’s tucked her head into her chest. Her every movement was a source of endless entertainment. Did we run out to buy duck food? Of course! Did we buy a wooden plank to put on the pool steps so that when the ducklings appeared for their first swim, they’d be able to exit the pool? You bet! Did we sit by the sliding glass door and watch the little fur balls waddle up to check us out? We did! And it was pure bliss. Just a joy to watch Momma spread her wings at night as she shielded her brood.

Google Alert

For over a month, we learned everything we could about ducks. You would have thought it was Christmas when those babies appeared. So profound was our delight and wonder. But sadly, ducks are wild animals, and it wasn’t long before one of the ducklings went missing, a victim of a duckling thief. Momma went off the rails, screaming so loudly that we were awoken from our beds in the early morning. The season with our ducks was over. Within an hour, the family was gone as Momma wisely hustled everyone out of the backyard in search of safety.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Mothers are truly miraculous. So to all the wonderful mothers out there, here’s wishing you a fantastic Mother’s Day. It’s a hard job that requires a unique talent. I hope the day turns out to be a special and memorable one. And God bless your ducklings. May they all excel and thrive!

And Now for Something A Little Special

I’ve just wrapped up the final draft of my next novel, Friends for A Season, which I hope to have out in the world by November 2025. In celebration, I’m offering a free ebook of my What’s That Growing in My Sour Cream? Humorous Observations on Modern Life. Until we meet again, wishing you and your family the best of May!

 

 

Can You Worry Your Way into a Healthy New Year?

Writing a humor blog is a great way to celebrate life. But over the last few months, I’ve struggled to find a topic to grab my funny bone. That’s because come January, I’m scheduled for open heart surgery to replace an aortic valve. Big fun! And if you follow me, you probably know that I’m a bit of a worry wart. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m the King of Worry Warts. And if you’ve read my novels (thank you), my characters love to worry too. And believe me, I’ve edited the heck out of those early drafts. So you can only imagine how stressed those poor people were before coming into contact with my red pen.

Tears for Fears

I’m a natural pessimist. Even as a baby, it’s hard to find a picture of me smiling. God knows I’ve tried. I remember my parents complaining that when I was an infant, I vomited whenever someone picked me up. Yes, I was a delightful companion even then. Home movies have proven this is no exaggeration. And so what if I focus on the downside? As an author, I find it helpful in creating fiction. If everyone in a novel starts out happy, there can be no upside. At least not in a way that inspires me to keep writing and perhaps you, to keep reading.

Back to Open Heart Surgery!

I know—open heart surgery sounds awful. My friends keep saying, “It will be a breeze.” I won’t say my friends lie. Let’s just say, they mean well. And if there ever was a time to lie to me, I’d say this is it. Still, others have insisted on being brutally honest. Those are the folks who’ve either gone through the surgery, worked in the healthcare industry, or don’t like me. I’ve been surprised how many people fall into that last category. Imagine being told you’ll be cracked open like a walnut. Not my favorite nut. And based on my eating habits, I hope they aren’t greeted by a big block of chocolate when they do open me up. Oh, wait. That could only happen on Valentine’s Day! Silly me.

How Will I Manage the Pain?

The way I manage all things—by complaining. And let’s be honest. Men don’t do well with pain, cuts and bruises, headaches, or colds. So, in anticipation, I’ve been practicing complaining. And no, you don’t have to be ill to complain. It’s a free country. And like my holiday shopping—I believe in starting early. My plan: garner as much sympathy as possible. Seize the moment for all it’s worth. Hey, I’m not proud. And in case something should go wrong, I’m prepared. Book #5, Friends for A Season, is written. Hopefully, that novel will appear in the Spring of 2025 following my successful operating room debut. Lights, camera, scalpels!

And Now for Something a Little Extra!

This month, in celebration of my upcoming visit to Cleveland Clinic, I’m offering a free e-book of Boca by Moonlight. Click here and enjoy. Oh, and before I forget, here’s wishing you and your family a healthy and happy Holiday Season. May all your dreams come true. And may the year be one of peace. Happy Reading!

 

The Things We Can’t Hear…And Those We Can!

Silence may be golden, but being deaf is not for the faint of heart. Lately, I’ve been struggling with my hearing, unsure if it will ever return to the level it was before I had that little tumor in my right ear removed. Now I know that my hearing is improving. For one thing, I no longer jump every time Jeff appears. That’s good. There’s nothing worse than reacting to your loved one as if they are a stranger who just broke into your home. And though I still can’t hear him perfectly, it must be better. I’m no longer constantly saying what every time he speaks. Perhaps I’ve just begun to fill in the blanks. After thirty-four years together, what could he say that I haven’t already heard before? Not much, I hope. Or maybe, I’ve given up. After all, when you live with someone, sometimes they’re just muttering to themselves, commenting on the weather, or something innocuous. And if you could hear them, you’d probably let most of that slide on by. Let’s hope if the house was on fire, or something equally catastrophic, he’d be more animated trudging past me in the morning.

Am I Disabled?

Being deaf in my left ear since I was a child, I wasn’t raised with the notion that I was disabled. After all, I heard perfectly well with my good ear as long as you were standing within earshot and I knew you were talking to me. But now with the diminished hearing in that one good ear, life has changed, and I guess that is how it eventually goes for all of us. Live long enough and the parts may not work as well. For some, it might be a knee, hip, disc, or even the eyes. For others, it might be a battle with cancer. For me, it’s an ear. And I’m certainly not alone. Lately, I’ve been counting hearing aids. A lot of adults wear them. So this disability is fixable. Still, I can’t say I feel good about the experience. Is it the hearing or the fact of getting older? Ahh. Another topic for another blog.

Hearing Aids

Up until now, Jeff has been my main hearing aid. Doctor visits have required his presence. Even an ENT’s office is amazingly unaware that deaf patients are struggling to hear. It’s not uncommon for a medical assistant to look away when talking to you. Or for a doctor to fail to raise his voice. Fortunately, Jeff can hear it all. That’s been a blessing. And I’m back to lip reading. I’m not great at it, but I’m practicing. Oh. And I just got a hearing aid. That’s been a lifesaver. I can’t understand why some people refuse to wear it. That said, I must admit that my ear can sometimes hurt after a few hours of wearing it. Men! We’re made of spit and polish.

Other Noises

Funny enough, despite my diminished hearing, there are still some sounds that I can hear quite well. Like that jiggling noise coming from my car’s dashboard. What the hell is it? A marble rolling around? A loose screw? And why can’t a mechanic find and fix it? And I can hear the beeping of the dishwasher when it’s finished. And that is a few rooms away. That darn beeping continues until someone gets up and turns the dishwasher off. So far, it’s been a battle of wills in our house. Because whoever turns the dishwasher off has to empty it. And no one wants that job!

Now for Something a Little Extra!

This month, we’re participating in an Emotional Connections in Women’s Fiction promotion. It’s a great opportunity to grab a free ebook of my second novel After the Fall and check out the works of over thirty other authors. I hope you’ll take a moment to review the promotion. Until we meet again, have a great September!

 

 

And the Scale Says…

Lately, I’ve been weighing myself, and I must say, like smoking, overeating, or picking your nose in public, watching the scale has become a bad habit. Something that I wouldn’t recommend anyone start. Because once you start, it’s hard to look away as the numbers bounce about before settling on the latest reading. And just like in Vegas at the roulette table, no matter what number pops up, you’re bound to be disappointed. Because the only reason why you bought a scale in the first place was that the doctor (damn him) wanted to be sure that with your leaky heart valve,  you weren’t retaining water. But shouldn’t retaining water be good if you live in the desert? It seems to work for camels. Alas, people are not camels and with a leaky heart valve, one must follow the cardiologist’s recommendations. So what has been a slight heart murmur for years has now progressed to the next stage of concern, a reminder that all minor ailments in your youth are bound to progress (God willing that you live long enough) into something more ominous given time.

Back to the Scale

So, exactly how much do I weigh? Good question. The best I can tell, it depends on the time of day. Right out of bed, I’m the lightest. But then, I’m barefoot and stripped to the waist. Still, I am wearing a pair of eyeglasses, and since I’m extremely near-sided, those Coke bottle lenses must count for some added weight. But without the glasses, I couldn’t see the reading, never mind the scale. So, eyeglasses and all, I balance precariously hoping my two feet are planted correctly, and wondering, despite the obvious demands of gravity, if my full weight is on the scale. Yes, I know. That makes no sense. But I long for accuracy. Even before my first cup of coffee, scale thinking is taking over.

Log It!

It isn’t enough to own a scale. Now, I must also record my weight. Why? Mostly because I have a terrible memory. But primarily to keep a record. Am I on a diet? Well, I wasn’t until I started weighing myself. Suddenly, I am. A diet that my doctor hasn’t prescribed. A diet that eliminates excess sugar. A decision that I made so that I don’t die young. What do you mean, it’s too late? No matter how leaky my valve might be, I still feel young. Full of vim and vigor. I still work out. Go to the gym regularly. So, in the spirit of good health, I’ve decided to say no to candy, cookies, and cake. Nothing processed. Goodbye, chocolate brownies. Tata, Snickers. I’ll always love you, Ghiradlelli. But now, our time together has ended. Sigh. Isn’t it great growing older?

What Time Is It?

Hidden in the corner of the bathroom, the scale speaks to me. How much do I weigh now? Has the number changed since I ate breakfast? Do I weigh less after walking the neighborhood? And so, I pop off my shoes and step aboard the weight ride. Where are we headed?  Skinny Town where Twiggy remains ever svelte or the Pudge Factory where Twinkies dance in the streets. The scale has only been in my house for six days and already I’m thinking about donating it to a worthy charity. I never realized one’s weight could fluctuate so much throughout the day. And why, for God’s sake, would anyone not under a doctor’s care ever wonder how much they weigh? After all, it’s just a number.

Can I Get Over this New Obsession?

Sure, I can. It’ll just take time. Meanwhile, I have a new blood pressure cuff waiting for me. I haven’t opened the box yet. But I can’t wait. Toys for the older man! Oh boy. Getting older can be fun. And so informative. Can an Apple watch be too far off in my future? In the meantime, I will practice my new cooking skills: cauliflower pizza, broccoli omelets, and lentil pancakes. Healthier meals are possible but they’ll never replace chocolate peanut butter cups. Farewell, Duncan Hines. I’ll miss you, Sara Lee. Don’t pine for me, Betty Crocker. You’ll always have a place in my heart. But for now, I’m fine with carrots and celery sticks. Don’t you love crunchy things?

And Now for Something a Little Extra!

We’re participating in a Summer is for Women’s Fiction promotion. It’s a great time to check out a variety of authors and grab a copy of my latest novel Boca by Moonlight. Please take a few moments to check out the promotion. And be sure to enjoy the rest of the month!

 

Say, I Do!

There’s nothing like a family wedding to bring out the need to raid one’s closet for appropriate attire. In our house, we’re a casual duo. Jeans without sneakers is a dressy night out. So, you can imagine the activity when a wedding invitation arrived that requested formal attire. We immediately Googled to find out what that meant for men. Do we have to wear tuxedos? Oh, good. Dark suits would suffice. But wait. The last time I wore a dark suit was in 2019 when I attended my nephew’s wedding. And that suit wasn’t new then. Fortunately, men’s styles don’t change much. Lapels may widen and narrow. Jacket lengths dip and rise. But no one is expecting us to show up in something cutting-edge like Ryan Gosling wore in Barbie. That would just be silly. Surely, I could wear the same suit I’ve owned since Noah unloaded the ark. But would it still fit? Why not? I work out. I eat right. It’s possible.

Trust Me. It’s Not Possible.

In just a few short years, my suit has shrunk. Not the jacket. That still fits perfectly. My arms aren’t any longer. Surprising, considering that I like to hang on a chin-up bar at the gym (it relieves tightness in my shoulders). As for the pants, well, just between us, my dry cleaner is lucky I never sued. The pants have lost at least an inch around the circumference. And yes, I could close them (barely). I’d be fine for standing around, but what if I wanted to sit down? I’m not sure I could do it. And god forbid the top button popped off. I might severely injure someone in the direct line of fire.

Cookies, Cake, and Candy. Yum.

Let’s face it. The years of Covid have been tough on the old waistline. Yes, I admit to the occasional slice of cake. And yes, I’m a sucker for Cadbury’s Fruit & Nut chocolate bar. Doesn’t the fruit make it a healthier choice? And how could I pass on Whole Foods chocolate chip cookies?  Oh, who am I kidding? Anyone’s chocolate chip cookies are good. Even the bad ones.

Off to the Tailor.

I just wish I didn’t have to see the look on the tailor’s face when he adjusts the waistline. Maybe I’m projecting, but I think he’ll be genuinely disappointed in me. Like I forgot to share all my tasty treats with him. I just hope he leaves me enough room to devour the box of Valentine’s candy still sitting in the closet. I’m partial to Sees. But then, I’d never turn down Ghiradelli. Heck, who am I kidding? If it’s chocolate, I’m always willing to give it a taste. And if you mix it with peanut butter, I might even taste it twice!

And Now for Something a Little Extra!

My new novel Friends for A Season is on schedule for a late 2024 release date. It’s an intergenerational story between an older woman and a college student, each struggling to cope with life’s challenges. In the meantime, if you haven’t had a chance to check out my debut novel, The Intersect, here are two free sample chapters from the ebook. Grab it here. And have a great February!

Is Disappointment Just A Part of Life?

For those of you who’ve been reading my blog, you know that last month I had surgery on my right ear to remove a tumor that had rendered me totally deaf. I was already deaf in my left as a result of a childhood illness. The doctor had promised a complete recovery—and that my hearing would be “better than ever before”. But what he didn’t say at the time was that it would take three months for the hearing in my right ear to fully return. On the bright side, I can hear now. But I’m only at 50% of my former hearing. I guess sometimes, our expectations exceed what nature has planned. Of course, it makes sense that my ear would need time to heal. And I’m certainly grateful we live in a world where this kind of surgery can be done. But to be honest, the disappointment over the immediate results has sent me into a funk. And I’m sure that I’m not the only patient who ever went through a procedure hoping to be quickly back to 100% once it was over.

Buck Up

You’d think it would be hard to wallow in self-pity when you’ve had such a good life. Well, take it from me. It’s not hard. That said, there are things I’ve learned through all this, and so, in the spirit of sharing, I thought I’d pass them along:

  1. One way to view a personal struggle is to consider it a character-building moment. How we manage through the experience says a lot about who we are. You can choose to handle it well or poorly. I assure you, handling it poorly doesn’t make anyone feel any better. Certainly not you, and definitely not your family.
  2. When frustrated, it’s not a bad idea to challenge yourself to a game. For me, I’ve searched for other ways to say “what”—a word I say a lot these days. So far, I’ve come up with “excuse me”, “pardon”, and when I’m in the mood to laugh, “hey” with a palm held up to my ear like an old codger. If you have any other suggestions, please let me know.
  3. Everyone has their problems. But if you’re lucky, when you face a challenge, others will jump in and share it with you. I’ve been lucky. So many people have gone out of their way to wish me well. Those kind words have meant a lot.
  4. When it comes to your health, you have to be your own best advocate. Sadly, I allowed my hearing loss to go on way too long before finally connecting with a surgeon. Had I pressed for a CT Scan sooner, the tumor would have been found earlier. Live and learn.
  5. Every day is a gift. But that gift can either be a lump of coal or a lovely bouquet. It all depends on what you’re expecting. So try, if you can, to remain positive. I hear it’s worth the effort.

And Now, Something Extra!

This month, I thought I’d share a video of Gilda Radner as Emily Litella from Saturday Night Live. Emily always seemed to get everything wrong. Did she need a hearing aid? Probably. But I definitely identified with her over the last few weeks. So take a moment to step back and laugh along with Gilda, Emily, and me. And be sure to have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

It’s Not About Us…Thank Goodness

There’s something compelling about reality television. Whether you’re watching My 600-lb Life or Married at First Sight, at least it’s not your life. You can sit back and get lost in someone else’s journey. Disconnect from your own issues as you watch a stranger struggle with theirs. Is that therapeutic? I don’t know. But what I do know is that it’s mindless television. And if you have a busy mind, one that likes to do a loop-de-loop through your own issues, it’s nice to focus on someone else’s troubles for a change.

Who Can You Tell?

Clearly, reality television is here to stay. But would you ever admit to watching it? Back in the day, before Lincoln was shot, TLC was created as The Learning Channel. I remember that first season. Very educational. And Bravo, as the name implies, was all about high culture. Opera, ballet, and the like. But over time, both channels morphed into reality only. As low-brow as you could go. It seems Americans prefer minding other people’s business instead of engaging in the greater art forms. Hey, no judgment here. Soon, ABC, NBC, and CBS jumped into the fray. I may not be a fan of The Housewives or Survivor, but I get how engaging the shows can be. Deception. High jinx. Ruined friendships. A scandal or two. What’s there not to like? As long as it isn’t happening in my house.

Genre Appeal

Personally, I’m all in on the romance reality shows. Yes, I admit to tuning into ABC’s The Bachelor. And lately, I’ve been watching Netflix’s Love is Blind. There’s something compelling about young adults falling in love. Do I expect any of it to last? Heck, no. But I like seeing the mating dance in action. But then, I don’t write romance. If I did, maybe I wouldn’t want to watch it. Instead, my work is based on family dysfunction. That’s where I come from and so that’s what I know. I can hear my mother now: Don’t tell them that. It’s not true. Uh, yeah. It is. We’re one-hundred percent dysfunctional. Every day, all year long. And trust me, when you’re living it, you don’t want to watch it. But please don’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret.

Now for Something a Little Extra!

This month, we’re participating in a contemporary fiction giveaway. This is your opportunity to grab a free e-book of Boca by Moonlight. Now that’s a sweet deal for July. So until we meet again, stay safe and enjoy the summer. See you in August!

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