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200th Blog Post – A Gift Guide

What do you do when your friendly, neighborhood writer publishes her 200th blog post?

Do a little dance… Make a little love… Get down tonight!

Moving on…

I know it’s hard to figure out what to get me on such a momentous occasion. But, what is the appropriate gesture? This is a toughie. Birthdays – even milestone birthdays – require selecting a gift based on age and interests. Brides and grooms and babies make it easy because they have registries. Wedding anniversaries have a specific and helpful chart for what to buy each year you are together. Lucky for you, I have put together this gift guide for your convenience. You are welcome. 

In the $0-$10 category, recommendations of your favorite books or podcasts you think I might enjoy is always a wonderful idea. Whether you have been a long-time reader of my blog or are just checking me out for the first time, I’ll bet you know something I’d like that feeds my creative process. Feel free to leave your best picks in the comments box at the end of this post.

Can’t think of anything? Don’t worry. A box of my favorite writing instruments  – the Pentel R.S.V.P. Ballpoint Pens, Medium point in assorted colors would make me very happy. You can never have enough good pens. But Lord knows, I have plenty of promotional click pens lying around that may or may not work anymore.

In the $15-$50 category, a gift card to a local independent bookstore is always a big win. I love supporting these establishments and with the pandemic, they need all of the support they can get. If you don’t like to give gift cards, there are always some cute book-related, writer-themed coffee mugs, bookmarks or comfy socks that I know I’d enjoy.

In the $150 – $500 category, I could really use a writing desk. My work set up is not ideal for writing. My laptop is perched on an ergonomic portable shelf which is sitting on the countertop of my kitchen peninsula. Staring at the dishes in the sink only makes me feel guilty for not doing them and therefore they are not conducive to the writing experience I wish to have.

Also, if there is any money left over, you can put it towards writing workshops and yearly conferences I plan to attend in the near future. Just ask me for my list.

And at the “money is no object” or “I married you and want you to have everything you want” level of giving, I’d like a she-shed or a dedicated writer’s room. One of these days, I will transform a bedroom into my own writing haven. It will include a lovely sofa for reading and pondering my next post. I’ll stock my new writing desk with Moleskine journals and boxes of Pentel R.S.V.P. medium point pens in assorted colors. The sky-high bookshelves will be filled with novels from my favorite authors as well as some good dictionaries, a thesaurus and, of course, the latest version of the AP stylebook. There should also be a coffee nook in the corner and a place for inspiring quotes and artwork as well as a scented candle and a fresh bouquet of flowers.

Too much?

Ok, fine. You got me. Deep down, I know a gift isn’t expected or necessary. In all honesty, what I really want from you on this milestone occasion is to continue reading, commenting and encouraging me however you can. I can’t tell you how much it means to have someone tell me they liked what I’ve written or that it made them think about things a little differently than before. Writers are a funny breed of creatives. We need reassurance that what we are putting out into the world is relevant and from a voice that should be heard. That’s really all I could ever ask for.

But, the pens would be nice too.

 

Essential Work

My first professional writing gig was as a weekend obit writer for the Daily Local News in West Chester, PA. As far as the newspaper hierarchy goes, this job is the bottom of the totem pole. And because of that, you may think the obituaries are not as important as the big story. But, I still felt my work was essential because I knew many readers often turn to that section first to see if they knew anyone listed there. If I close my eyes, I can picture my eager-to-please, 20-something self sitting in the back of that old newsroom by the phone and fax machine waiting for death notices to come through.

Sounds morbid, right? That’s because it was. One car accident or house fire could make for a busy and exhausting day. The good days were when no one died, or when I wrote about a 90-year old nursing home resident who went peacefully in her sleep.

I learned a few things about people skills and professionalism during my short tenure. I was rather chummy with the local funeral directors who made my job a lot easier by confirming the spelling of the name of the deceased, the memorial service information or getting the approval of the obit from the family.

And then, there were times when I had to call the family myself.

“Hi, this is Elisa from the Daily Local. I’m so sorry for your loss. I know this is a difficult time for you and your family, but I have an 8 pm deadline and I need your approval to run the obituary. Also, do you have a photo to go with it? If so, here is how you can send that over to me, and I’d be happy to include it with the article.” 

What a weird job.

During this pandemic, I think about the person now sitting at my old desk. Sadly, he or she must be quite busy these days and maybe they leave the office exhausted. People of all ages and stages of life are dying every day – not by accident or fire – but by plague. I wonder if the paper brought in some additional writing help. Although to be honest, the writing is not that hard. One would think capturing the life of another person would take time and a considerable amount of effort. Admittedly, I don’t know how obits are written today, but back then it was an incredibly structured boilerplate of 150 words or less. The only exception was when an elected official or local celebrity passed away which often justified a higher word count.

In most cases, the obituary went something like this.

Mr. Jones, a beloved local high school teacher, died at age 90 of cancer. Born in West Chester, he lived in Phoenixville his entire life. He taught 10th-grade algebra for 25 years before retiring in 1991. He was a Vietnam War vet, a Boy Scout leader for Pack 573 and a church elder at West Chester Presbyterian. He loved to go fishing, play golf and spend quality time with his four grandchildren. Mr. Jones leaves behind his wife of 45 years, Emily, their son Frank and daughter Cheryl, his brother Mike Jones of Exton, and four grandchildren. Funeral services will be held on April 10th at 9 am (enter name of funeral home and address). Interment will be held at (enter name of the cemetery). A reception will take place at (restaurant name). In lieu of flowers, please make a donation to the American Cancer Society. 

It always struck me how their lives could never be fully captured in a few words. But recently, The New York Times found a way to honor those who died of COVID-19 on their front page. Writers and editors took the time to go through the obituaries of 1,000 New Yorkers and carefully chose the perfect words to describe who they were in life.

Hailey Herrera, 25, Budding therapist with a gift for empathy

Michael Angel Bastiaans, 31, Indonesian teacher who reached into his own pocket to help students

Ty, 47, British rapper with a storytelling gift

Vanee Sykes, 53, Advocate for women released from prison

Orlando Moncada, 56, Left Peru and grabbed on to the American dream

Madeline Kripke, 76, Collector of dictionaries and lover of words

Romi Cohn, 91, Saved 56 Jewish families from the Gestapo

This act of kindness by the writers of the Times reminds me that words are powerful–even in 10 words or less. It may have been the best way to honor those lives well lived.

May their memories be for a blessing. And God bless the obit writers who – to me – are also essential workers.

Out of Control

The very definition of being in control is having the power to influence or direct people’s behavior or the course of events.

I’ve never been a control freak, but I am a Type A personality and I like the sense of security that comes with feeling in control. But so far, everything this year seems completely out of control. From being reassigned to another team at work to being forced into quarantine, I am not in control of anything right now. And then – as if that weren’t enough – a tragic event has befallen our country and shook many of us to our core.

Personally, my cocoon of living in a peaceful and somewhat controlled world has been violently shredded and replaced with a brand new world that I don’t recognize and never knew existed.

Okay, maybe I did know it existed. And now, I realize I have been unintentionally complacent towards it. And, I’m angry at myself for not seeing it sooner.

As a Jew, I recognize the antisemitic stereotypes and prejudice that I’ve experienced towards me, my family, and my community. But, those instances have never interfered with my ability to buy a house, receive a quality education, and pursue my dreams. I’ve never been followed in a store or pulled over in my car for no particular reason. My mere presence in places has never been questioned. I’ve never had to hold my tongue or change my tone for fear that police officers would feel threatened and justified in harming me.

Living in my safe cocoon has been a privilege, and I see that clearly now.

So now what? I guess recognizing it is a step in the right direction. Now, it’s a question of what I can do about it. Instead of feeling out of control, I’ll let go of the reins a little more and let others take the lead. I’ll take a step back and stay alert for instances of injustice and unfairness towards the black community and then speak out when I feel it’s needed. I’ll read more about their history and their lives. I’ll listen to their stories. I’ll learn a lot and more importantly, I’ll share what I’ve learned with others so we can all make changes for the better.

And if and when the opportunity presents itself, I’ll find ways to make a difference. So please, let me know what I can do. Or if I’m on the right track. I’m all ears.

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