By: Alice Rene,
on 9/21/2011
I’ll be signing “Becoming Alice” in the Authors Pavilion on Ojai Day, Saturday, Oct.15th between 10 AM and 5 PM. Hope to see you there.
By: Alice Rene,
on 9/18/2011
Sometimes I wonder if there is a connection between self-image and reality. When I reflect back to my childhood, there was a very strong connection between my self-image and the child that I was in reality. I thought I was not like other children and I wasn’t. I was this scared, funny-looking European kid going to school with a lot of happy American kids. I wrote about that in my memoir, Becoming Alice. Imagine how aweful these poor kids have it who suffer from anorexia when what they see in the mirror, a perfectly normal child, is percieved as a fat kid.
As time went on, my self-image and the person I was in real life became closer. I became an American adult. And the feelings of inferiority and lack of self-confidence went away. I was pretty much the person that I thought I was. It would be up to somebody else to tell me otherwise.
But now a chunk of years have gone by and I think that misconnect between self-image and reality is creeping up again. I still think of myself as a pretty average, normal, American adult. But now I often am reminded that I fall into another category. This incident made me become aware of that fact: I am sitting around at my athletic club having coffee with a group of girls/women (why is it that the older you get, the more likely it is that older women are called girls?) talking about this and that, nothing of great significance. I did notice, however, that most of these ladies with whom I play tennis are much younger than I am. I looked at one of them and was reminded that she wrote me a very nice note telling me how much she enjoyed reading Becoming Alice and that she figured I must be her mother’s age. Okay. And then the cute young thing sitting next to me remarked that she thinks it wonderful that I still play tennis … and she hopes she will be able to do the same thing when she is older.
There it is. There is that word older that doesn’t fit with my self-image. I don’t know what to do. What behaviors should I undertake to fit into that category of old. There is a glitch between my self-image and what other people think of me. I know what I must do. I think I shall just ignore them and keep my self-image as an average American adult.
By: Alice Rene,
on 9/6/2011
I’ve just seen pictures of starving people in Somalia on TV. A large number of them were children, very young children, even babies. There weren’t just a small number who maybe didn’t have food because of a severe drought. There were dozens and dozens of them. Actually there were hundrds of them. The last count was 750,000 children and their parents who walked for miles to detention camps which might give them some nurishment and medical help. Most of them weren’t expected to live. Why had this happened? One reason is that the aid that is being sent to them is being hijacked by radical Islamists. My mind just isn’t able to wrap itself around all this. Are we once again looking at still another holocaust? Or, is this genocide?
Being a holocaust survivor, I went to the dictionary to find out. My Random House Dictionary says that genocide is: the deliberate and systematic extermination of a national or racial group. A holocaust is: a great or complete devastation or destruction, esp. by fire. Therefore, the situation in Somalia is genocide because Africans are systematically dying from starvation controlled by others. The situation of extermination of Jews and others in WWII is called “The Holocaust” because of the millions that were incinerated in the ovens,therfore by fire, in Auswitz and other extermination camps. But how about those that were kept as slave laborers who were starved to death? Wasn’t that genocide?
Holocaust or Genocide? What difference does it make what we call it? To me it still proves that mankind has not moved one inch beyond its barbaric tendencies and I wonder if it ever will. I hate to be so negative on the subject, but I just can’t bear to see “the systemic extermination of a national or racial group” yet another time, be it called genocide or holocaust.
By: Alice Rene,
on 8/13/2011
I’ve got a lot of years under my belt and in all that time I’ve learned a little something about a lot of things. I like gardens and plants and flowers, so I’ve learned which ones like sun and which prefer shade. I know which like a lot of water and which don’t like much at all. I’ve learned which ones look good with which others and which ones look better all by themselves. That’s one area where I know a little something, but I’m not really an expert.
I’m married and have raised three kids, so over the years I’ve done a lot of cooking. I know how to make things taste good. And to keep the boredon out of the whole process, I’ve tried to get creative with lots of dishes. So, now I’ve overheard others say, “Oh Alice . . . well, she’s a very good cook.” I’m glad to know that, but I also know that Martha Stewart doesn’t need to worry.
I’ve lived in several different homes and always liked to decorate them myself. I liked doing that, because I needed to only please my husband and myself in terms of its aesthetics. I don’t really know why others compliment the finished products. I always thought they were being polite. I think I know a little something, but I don’t think I’m an expert interior decorator.
And now a new one has popped up in my life. I have gotten two emails from other authors who have recently published books. They contacted me for advice on how to market their works. Well, yes, I have spent a few years marketing Becoming Alice and am happy to say I’ve had a fair amount of success in doing so. Of course my book never made it onto any Best Seller list and I am still being bombarded by others, like myself, who are now trying to sell me their expertise. None of their books have made the Best Sellerlist either.
So, I’d like to say that I obviously know a whole lot more about marketing a book than the newly published authors do, but I would never want to sell my knowledge to anyone. You see, I am not an expert at this undertaking either … otherwise I might have made it onto one of those coveted Best Seller lists.
I must admit however that I am mighty proud of what I know about gardening, gourmet cooking, decorating, perhaps playing tennis, and the relatively large number of books Becoming Alice has sold. At least I know a little something.
By: Alice Rene,
on 8/10/2011
My blogging time has gone into the following media release: http://www.freepublicitygroup.com/release-alice-rene-aug1011.html Check it out.
By: Alice Rene,
on 7/30/2011
I have recently been invited to join a book club in my home town and was pleased to receive the invitation. I respect and like the members of this group. I did have some trepidation about accepting since I don’t often have time to do all the reading I would like. And If I were obligated to have read a book in its entirety each month to speak intelligently about it, I would feel guilty about being unprepared for the critique and discussion about the assigned book.
It has been two months now since my induction into this group and I consider myself a complete failure so far. The first author who was chosen is a writer of thrillers, not my most favorite genre. I tried. However I found him to write in such a fashion that I never became interested in any of his characters. So how can I read a book about people for whom I don’t give a hoot? I voiced my opinion and sat silently listening to those who did enjoy the book. Sigh!
This month the chosen book is The Wizard of Lies the Madoff story. Again, I felt like I would be in above my head. I know nothing about stocks and bonds, converting convertible bonds into common stock, mergers, accuisitions, tax-write-off, etc., etc., etc. Never mind, I told myself, I will read this book to find out why Madoff became the criminal, thief, and robber that he is. You see, I am interested in people and what makes them become who they are. Is it some thing in their environment, in their upbringing, some experience they may have had, or what? Why did Bernie Madoff become the Bernie Madoff who destroyed hundreds of people’s lives and who now rots in prison? This will be interesting, I said to myself.
Wrong again! Sadly, it disappointed me. It was written more like a historical treatise about his family background, not unusual or pathologic, and then the steps he took in his career that led him to the ponzi scheme that we know as the mother of all ponzi schemes.
The book failed me in showing me Bernie Madoff as a person, someone who not only thinks and plots, but someone who also loves and hates and plays and feels. The book fails to do that and I shall attend the next book club meeting once again without having finished reading it.
By: Alice Rene,
on 7/24/2011
I have been busy writing my book, so much so that I haven’t had a chance to post a blog. Until today. My book is not a sequel to my memoir, Becoming Alice. Rather it is what now is called creative nonfiction. I won’t belabor the point by going into a lengthy definition of that category, but instead I’ll tell you it is about a young woman who basically wants to get married. What woman doesn’t?
In the process of dating and the man and woman in my story have a lot of yin and yang between them. I thought you might like to know what that means. I went to my dictionary and here it is: “Yin and Yang (Chinese philosophy) are two principles, one negative, dark, and feminine (Yin) and one positive, bright, and masculine (Yang), whose interaction influences the destinies of creatures and things.”
I object! I have never heard yin-yang used in such a way. I have always thought of it as two forces that pull in different directions, perhaps like the positive and negative in electicity or the currect Republicans and Democrats in Congress. I just had to get that one in there. I personally used it in the back and forth dance couples often do when they first get to know one another. Or, what married couples often do for the rest of their lives.
Being a woman I STRONGLY OBJECT to the negative force being identified as feminine. And who says the positive force is always masculine.
I’ve got to do something to protest. I can throw my dictionaly away. Obviously it is way out of date. Or, I could give up on Chinese philosophy on which I have often relied. My favorite sayings are “He who hesitates is lost.” and “Patience is a virtue.” Perhaps it was Confucious who said that.
In any case I am right about people not always seeing things the same way. That is just part of the human condition, call it yin and yang or whatever you like.
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By: Alice Rene,
on 7/15/2011
My dog sitter moved out of town and I panicked. Visions of being trapped into caring for my seven-year-old Golden Retriever around the clock 24/7 indefinately made me feel anxious, despite the unconditional love he emits to which I am addicted. I needed to get a dog sitter right away, having already committed to a weekend away in August and another overnight in September. In trying to get a referral, I found out that none of my friends own a dog. It reminded me of that saying I heard some time ago: “Happiness is when your youngest daughter gets married and your dog dies.”
Well, I don’t feel that way about either my daughters or my dog. I needed a dog sitter.! I got some cards from the desk of my veterinarian who did not know the caliber of their work. And then I got a referral from a neighbor who has cats. Still no dog referral. However my neighbor said she knew of someone who did this kind of work and perhaps I might like to call her.
“Yes! Yes!” I shouted. Ten minutes later my neighbor called back and in an apologetic voice told me the referral was for a lady who was not really very sophisticated, that she had a sort of limited background and now made a living cleaning houses … and taking care of pets. “However, she is kind, loyal, honest, and straigh-forward,” my neighbor said.
In my book, those are the most important qualities. I intervied this lady. She entered with a shy smile, wearing a simple house dress, and looked like a fish out of water. During our interview, she showed me that she liked my dog, who didn’t leave her side. I liked her, too and asked her for references. She whips out her iPhone for their telephone numbers. I don’t even have an iPhone. I like her and tell her I’ll call her … after I check her references.
Before leaving she says, “Oh, by the way, I borrowed your book, Becoming Alice, from a friend and liked it very much.
After I regained control of my jaw, which had dropped a considerable amount in surprise, I said, “I’m so glad.”
This compliment from a person who is not supposed to be sophisticated and who I am almost positive doesn’t know a thing about Jews, has just read a book about a child in the holocaust, a book that she borrowed and probably couldn’t afford to buy. I am honored!
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By: Alice Rene,
on 7/12/2011
Last night I went to a meeting of a book club which I have been invited to join. I have known some of its members, but not all. In being introduced, I learned that there is another woman in the group whose name is Alice. My head bobbed back a bit in surprise. Alice! Nobody I know, or have ever known, has been named Alice.
The lady I met was as shocked as I to meet another Alice. Well of course there are others: Alice Roosevelt, the daughter of President Theodore Roosevelt, Alice B. Toklas, member of the Parisian avant-garde of the early twentieth century, or Alice Paul, associated with furthering the suffrage movement for women, to name a few. The one thing we have in common is that we all are of a certain age and older.
It makes one realize that names are fashions of an era, just like the clothes we wear, the music to which we listen, the art we admire, the way we raise our kids, the values we hold, and the list goes on.
In my day girls had names like Nancy, Barbara, Elaine, Patricia, or Anne. Fast forward a couple of decades and you get names like Linda, Laura, Bonnie, Sue, or Kathy. Fast forward again to the names of today’s kids and you get Ashley, Laura, Bridget, and Emma.
As you probably read in Becoming Alice, I actually chose the name of Alice for myself. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I chose it because my brother was dating a girl named Alys. In today’s world that name would be Allison. I don’t fit that name.
Most people don’t ever veer from choosing the names of the time for their babies. That’s why I have so much admiration for the young couple I know who had the courage to name their son Oscar.
By: Alice Rene,
on 7/9/2011
Yesterday was a great day for me. I had been asked to speak to the occupants of an assisted-living facility. I accepted, of course, thinking the presentation and discussion would be different from any of the others I’d done in the past. I’ve talked to book clubs, libraries, social groups, temple groups, children’s classrooms, country clubs, book fairs, and the list goes on. But I’ve not spoke to a senior group that reside in an assisted-living home.
I anticipated that some participants would be walking into the room with the help of canes or an attendant’s arm, or even in wheelchairs. I was pleased to see that wasn’t necessary for my group. I also anticipated that once I began to speak, that a good number of my audiance would nod off for a little afternoon nap. Another preconceived notion I had was regarding the sale of any Becoming Alice books. I was asked the the home’s Activity Director to bring a few copies … just in case. I was wrong on all accounts.
With the exception of one lady who nodded off here and there, everyone was with me, attentively listening to me telling them my story, the story of a holocaust survivor. At the end of my presentation, I asked if anyone had an questions. They did. And they were questions that opened up whole new avenues about WWII history, anti-semitism, life as refugees, and fitting into the American way of life. Many had stories of their own to offer.
I was so impressed.The lesson to learn is to never “judge a book by its cover.” I had such a good time with this group of remarkable people.
My final surprise came when several of them asked to purchase my Becoming Alice.
By: Alice Rene,
on 7/9/2011
Becoming Alice is now available at BarnesandNoble.com as a Nook eBook for $4.80.
By: Alice Rene,
on 7/3/2011
In Becoming Alice you found out that Ilse became Alice in the 20th Century, not only in name, but also as an American person. Fast forward just a bit. Well no, fast forward a long way in years all the way into the 21st Century. That same Alice who was such a fish out of water and struggled to fit into the American landscape, is now trying to catch up to the technological demands of the 21st Century.
Yesterday I spend most of the morning trying to replace an ink cartridge in my printer. I’ve done those replacements before. No big deal, I thought. The trouble arose out of the fact that I purchased a new printer that not only prints, but is a fax machine, telephone, and has internet access capabilities. I haven’t checked whether it also will brush my teeth in the morning. I only wanted a printer. Period. Nothing else. There is no such animal on the market.
Never mind, I’ll just use the printer and send off those first ten pages of my new work to someone whose judgement I trust and who would give me an honest critique. I purchased a double cartridge, not wanting to be bothered so often. God, but they are expensive. I digested the price. Writing is really important to me and proceeded to install it.
I lifted the top from the printer and the ink cartridge carrier came into full view. Piece of cake, I thought. I removed the old one and installed the new one. The printer/fax/telephone/computer told me it didn’t recognize any of the red, blue, yellow, and black cartidges. I hadn’t even touched the color inks.
I’m not without any technological knowledge altogether, so I turned the printer/fax/telephone/computer off and unplugged it from the socket. Replugged it, turned it on, and the same message came up. I went to the handbook. There is no information about “how to replace an ink cartidge.”
Long story short: It took me two and a half more hours to notice that in installing the new black cartridge the other three colors popped out of their place by 1/16th of an inch. I needed to reinstall all four colors to make the @#$%&* work. Sigh!
Being a writer in the 21st Century is not for sissies!
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By: Alice Rene,
on 6/25/2011
I was walking my dog down a country road the other day and spotted a dime ahead of me. It must have had many cars drive over it since it no longer shined and the features of the head of FDR had been somewhat obliterated. “Never mind,” I thought. “How nice for me. I shall have good luck.” I picked it up and put it in my pocket for safekeeping until I could transfer it to my purse. I would not put it in my wallet to spend, but loose in the bag’s bottom where it would continue to bring me luck.
Later I thought about what a stupid thing I was doing. I am not superstitious at all. I am this left-brained person who is strongly reality based, don’t believe in myths, omens, legends, and even have trouble with religions. I don’t worry about black cats crossing the path in front of me. I like cats of any color and I don’t believe the cat knows that he/she might have such powers. I don’t walk under ladders because I’m afraid a can of paint, a brick, or a pale of water might fall on my head. I don’t worry about breaking the symbolic Holy Trinity and bringing bad luck to me and my family. I don’t nail a horseshoe over the threhhold of any door at my house; I think they are for horses and playing a game of pitching horseshoes.
I don’t rub a rabbit’s foot or cross my fingers when I wish for something. I drive my car and get on an airplane on Friday, the thirteenth whenever that happens. And when someone speaks of their good fortune and ends with, “Knock on wood,” I think what does that have to do with anything.
However, I once watched my dad grab a button on his jacket when two nuns crossed his path. He explained with a straight face that was to insure good luck. Why veryone knew that in the Ukraine. I don’t see nuns very often; so many of them wear street clothes now. But whenever I do see one, I intinctively grab a button. Daddy said so. Therefore it must be true.
And we all know for a fact that whenever I wash my car, it will rain the next day.
By: Alice Rene,
on 6/19/2011
I’ve finally found a little chunk of time to get back to my blogging. My writing time has been going to a fictional story that is bouncing around in my head. Perhaps I should say it has gone into rewriting the first ten pages two or three times. Each time I think it gets better. The down side is that I’m not getting on with it. Now I’ve come to believe that I should write the entire story down to its very end and then come back for my rewrites, however many they may be.
Then a couple of other events interfered with my gettting to this blog. One was attending a graduation in Texas and the other was a visit from an old friend for several days. I just hope I live long enough to finish writing my story.
Now, back to the visit from my old friend which was wonderful. We have known one another for —– years: too many to admit to. Shall we just say that we essentially grew up together. Our parents were best friends. The remarkable thing is that we were very different from one another as children. She was a happy, outgoing kid while I was shy, introverted and troubled. Somehow, we got along great.
Fast forward many many years. I moved away from my home town. She remained. Marriage and children followed. Careers followed. Happy events and unhappy events followed. Our lives took different paths. But somehow our friendship remained … strong.
My friend came to visit a short while ago and we found out that we are no longer so different from one another. We have, and have had, some of the same problems. We have dealt, and are dealing with them, in similar ways. We have some of the same interests: travel, reading books, going to the theater and concerts, movies, understanding world events and politics. The list goes on. The few days she was here just flew by and I can’t wait for our next visit.
Some childhood friends grow so different from one another over the years that they can hardly find a few words to exchange. How lucky I am that is not the case with my old friend.
1 Comments on Old Friends, last added: 6/23/2011
By: Alice Rene,
on 6/16/2011
A talk about Becoming Alice, A Memoir, by the author will take place at The Gables on Friday, July 8, at 1:45 PM. For more information call (805)765-7456
By: Alice Rene,
on 6/2/2011
I thought I was doing pretty well understanding the internet and deciding just exactly where I’d fit in and how to use it in general. I did the Facebook and Twitter thing and discovered that it wasn’t really how I like to communicate with people, especially people who I don’t even know. Then I was invited to be friends with people who wanted to sell me something, or teach me something, or were looking to me to fulfill some other type of need of theirs … which shall remain nameless.
So even though I am still participating in social media, sort of from the sidelines, I spent more of my time writing a blog. Why? Well, I like writing, especially about things that happen in everyday life that arouse some emotion in me. Politics make me angry. Seeing a good movie or play makes me want to tell my friends. Animals bring out the “Awww” factor in me and I like to share those stories. Then there are interesting people. Yes, I am fascinated my them and play with trying to figure them out.
But now I’ve hit a brick wall again. It’s not that I don’t get enough hits. I am getting more and more hits all the time. But They are coming from companies who want to sell me real estate, insurance, or used cars. And there are a zillion people who want to teach me something like editing, or publishing, or marketing books.
So, I’ve decided to write this blog as an experiment to see who is going to read it. If you are one of my subscribed readers, please ignore this. If not, let me know why you’ve read this blog!
By: Alice Rene,
on 5/19/2011
Just as I was thinking that Becoming Alice was slowly making its way into oblivion, I received an email from an unknown sender. I am always hesitant to open emails from parties that I don’t know. I learned that early on when many of them were strictly advertisements and come-ons for products I had no interest in. Others were sexual. Give me a break! So, naturally I either delete those emails or report them as scam. Even then I don’t think AOL does anything to keep them from coming.
Back to the latest email I received from an unknown sender. I don’t know why but for some reason I opened it and it was adressed to me by name. It was from a woman who bought Becoming Alice from me at the Los Aangeles Times Book Festival a couple of years ago. She wondered if I remembered her. She was the lady who had with her a handicapped son in a wheelchair. Of course, I did not remember her. I talked to a zillion people that day. She stated that the reason she emailed me was that she was moved by my account of the old butcher in my story who was forced to sell his store to my parents in order to stay home and help his wife care for their mentally retarded son.
She wanted to know more about why he made that decision and not any other kind, such as institutionalization. She wondered what responsibility society has in caring for such handicapped people. She wondered if she should listen to what her friends were advising her to do. And she wondered how his situation finally turned out.
I could not answer that question but I was able to share with her my own experience with couples who have had to deal with this problem, each making a different decision for themselves. My husband had a severely retarded brother who was cared for by their parents until his mother was ninety-two, at which time she herself needed elder care. Another couple gave birth to a Down’s syndrome baby and placed him directly from the hospital into an institution. Each of them made different decisions for themselves which they thought were right. My advice to her was to do whatever she thought was right for her.
In the end it is she who will have to be responsible for that decision, not society or her friends. Her last email to me was to thank me for my advice; she said it made her feel better about her decision to keep her son at home.
I never expected Becoming Alice to be useful to someone in this particular way, but I couldn’t have been more pleased.
By: Alice Rene,
on 5/9/2011
I’m all over the map going in all directions and getting nothing done. This time being “all over the map” is literal since I’ve just spent ten days in New York, the Netherlands, and Holland. That is one of the reasons why I haven’t posted anything here on WordPress. I was busy getting together clothes, sundries, toiletries, medications, reading material (for those long plane rides,) and paper to work on my next writing project. You’d think I was going to be spending time with a Stone Age tribe in the Amazon. Didn’t it ever occur to me that I could buy any one of those items in all of the above-mentioned destinations?
But the frustrating part of it all was that when I finally did find some time before my departure to get onto my computer, I couldn’t get through to the internet. A hasty call to my computer guy resulted in our needing to do more research to find out if my computer had died, or if the fault of lay in the hands ofTime Warner. They were in no hurry to come out to my house and my plane was leaving.
Never mind, I would have a computer at my disposal on the ship that was taking me on a River Cruise in Holland. Two computers for 130 guests on the boat! When I finally was able to get to one of them the ship was always located in a position out of range of the satellite. I tried to switch gears and pull out my writing pad. As soon as I finished a sentence or two, the Cruise Director would blast an announcement over the loudspeaker about our next port of call, or a waiter would ask me if I wanted to order a drink.
Perhaps you wonder why I didn’t spend any time getting to know my fellow passengers. The answer is that many of them were playing bridge in the back lounge. Good night, they could have done that back home in Iowa. Some of them came in packs of nine or ten people and they remained self-contained the entire time. I shouldn’t neglect to mention the three or four people who spent most of the cruise reading a newspaper or a Kindle. Luckily I brought mine along with me. The only problem was that I finished reading my book and couldn’t download another because there was no wifi connection available.
I thought about using my cell phone to call some of my friends back home, but I hadn’t purchased an international card before I left. All this made me aware of how dependent we have become on the amazing machines we have at our dispoasal. Imagine life without a computer, cell phone, or wifi connection. Yikes!
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By: Alice Rene,
on 4/27/2011
My mom had a saying which she used often, especially when she was stressed about not having enough time to two jobs that were of equal importance: “One can’t dance at two weddings on the same afternoon of the same day.”
I sometimes feel like that. My dad told us another story which applies to me as well. He, as a doctor, had a nurse of whom he was very fond. He said she did everything he told her to do efficiently and in a timely manner. But if he made the mistake of telling her to do two things, she became so confused that she didn’t do any one of them correctly.
Right now I fell exactly like his nurse. I spend my time being pulled in two different directions in my literary life, one is to promote my memoir, Becoming Alice and the other is to continue writing my next work which is a fictional story, based on true events.
The bottom line is that I can’t find enough time for me to spend to do either one of them justice, especially the writing aspect. Once I get going on a project, I like to keep going. I don’t like being pulled back and forth. I know I must make a decision soon or I’ll drive myself crazy. I know exactly how dad’s nurse must have felt. I don’t want to get to the point where I won’t be able to do either one of those jobs as well as I think I could.
By: Alice Rene,
on 4/17/2011
I was in the beauty shop last week getting a haircut. It was on a Friday and the business was booming; every one of the half dozen chairs was occupied with customers and operators working as fast as they could to process as many clients as possible. I often enjoy looking at the costumes of beauty shop operators because I think that they think they must be in punker garb to be successful. Purple and orange hair. Rings in noses, earlobes, belly buttons. You get the picture.
My beautician is dressed normal. She is fifty years old and perhaps that makes a difference. I don’t know. During a lull in my conversation with her, I overheard a customer at the other end of the row of chairs speak to her beautician. I couldn’t see either one of them since my head was tilted down so that we could cut around my neckline, but I heard, “I met this guy and he’s great. He owns his own business and he’s a Republican.”
It made me laugh and I said to my own beautician, “Never mind that he’s divorced because he beat his wife and cheats on his taxes, but he’s a Republican!
Of course, I know many people who have different formulas for whom they like. For example, mothers who don’t want their daughters to go out with anyone other than Jewish men, Mormon men, Catholic men, Armenian men, Germans, Swedes, Poles, and, of course, Democrats or Republicans. Need I go on?
What has happened to the time when we decided to like someone who was kind to others, ambitious for their families, charitable, intelligent, hard-working, lovimg, open to new ideas, or just simply nice.?
By: Alice Rene,
on 4/10/2011
I’m going to book a tennis lesson on my serve. That might seem ridiculous to anyone who knows how long I’ve played tennis, and who knows how old I am. I have played tennis most of my adult life. I’m not going to tell you how old I am. Most of my friends are still trying to figure that out by trying to put together a few hints that slipped out by mistake somewhere along the way. In any case, I have played tennis long enough to know how to make all the moves, but somehow I still can’t pull off a serve that has any power behind it. I guess I could support my decision to take a tennis lesson by pointing out that even the most successful tennis players of the world have coaches that point out to them certain ways of doing things, ways they may be totally unaware of, to improve their games. So, on that basis, I think I’m okay to take a lesson. Perhaps I’m not putting my shoulders into the right position, or not throwing the ball high enough, or following through the right way. We’ll see.
Now, as to taking that lesson at my age … that is another story. I am reminded of the fact that there have been some very successful people who started their careers at an age much beyond mine. One for example is Grandma Moses, the renowned American painter. She didn’t paint her first picture until she was seventy-six. She wasn’t discovered until she was seventy-eight, and she became internationally famous at the age of eighty. Luckily she lived until she was one hundred and one before she died so that we could behind a large portfolio.
Another remarkable story is the one about Harry Bernstein. He wrote an extremely successful memoir about his early life in England entitled “The Invisible Wall.” He was ninety-six years old. And in the first page of his book he tells his readers that he is “delighted to hear that Target has chosen my book … as its book club pick.” Wonderful! So, I don’t think I’ll apologize for taking a lesson on my serve right now. Perhaps someone will write about me having written Becoming Alice at my age.
No more for now … I must get back to writing my next book which is well on its way now.
0 Comments on When It Is Too Late as of 1/1/1900
By: Alice Rene,
on 4/6/2011
Having pondered the subject of guilt in an earlier blog, I am now thinking about its second cousin, the subject of regret. My parents had many regrets in their adult life, the main one being that they didn’t leave Europe at an early age and thus avoid the horror of the Second World War. But there were others, many of them being the decisions they made in either spending or managing their money. No matter how problematic my father’s relationship was with my brother, he never regretted anything he said or did in my poor brother’s regard. Remember, he was the one member of my family who never, never was able to say, “I’m sorry” except on one occasion.
My mother had many regrets, the most painful one for her was that she felt she was not close to her mother. And after my grandmother was killed, she was haunted by the fact that she never told her mother that she loved her. It’s mistakes like that which are the most lethal ones with which to live.
The other most painful regrets have to do with money. I heard my dad say, “I should have invested in that apartment house.” Of course his friend, who did take a chance on it, made a small fortune. Moreover, Dad didn’t learn from his mistake. He never was able to risk a dime on anything that wasn’t a hundred percent insured, solid investment. He had many regrets in his life.
Fast forward to my own regrets. I must be chip off the old block because I don’t really have any regrets regarding my interpersonal relationships. However, my husband and I both regretted not putting our house on the market a couple of years earlier when the market was hot. Our house is rented now and the regrets have diminished.
Moreover, recently there has been some talk about the fact that we may be going into an inflationary period in our economy, and owning a house may just end up being the best hedge against inflation that we could possibly have. So all this makes me wonder if we should really spend a whole lot of time kicking ourselves over regrets, when there isn’t much we can do to reverse things, and maybe, just maybe, our decisions may end up being the best ones we could have made in the first place.
By: Alice Rene,
on 3/30/2011
I am in the process of making my latest adjustment in life, namely getting the hang of living in a small town. I have to admit that basically I am a big city girl. I like all the convenience and culture and rhythm and excitement that a big city offers. And having lived in one for so many years, I have learned to suppress my annoyance with the noise, crime, dirt, congestion, traffic, etc. etc. etc. that is part and parcel of living in a metropolis.
It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed being in the country. I grew up in Portland, Oregon … but you already know that from reading Becoming Alice, and I have a great need to have nature, plants, flowers, trees, grass lawns, etc. etc. etc. all around me. Fortunately my homes have always had those amenities. And now I am in a small town where those wonderful gifts of nature are even more abundant. I love that.
However, I am reminded by my mother’s warnings early on, “You can’t have everything!” The other saying was, “If you had everything, it would be paradise on earth … and one can’t have paradise here and now. Maybe later … who knows?” Smart lady!
I’ve already told you the shortcomings of big city life. I am now making my adjustment to Small Town America. One of my annoyances is the lack of shopping facilities. I do miss not having a Peets Coffee shop anywhere near. I can’t pop into a Bed n’ Bath every once in a while … with coupons in hand, of course. I like to buy some stuff at Cosco … so much cheaper … and Trader Joe’s … for things I can’t get anywhere else. Nowhere near. So far I haven’t found a jeweler who can size my rings as my fingers get fatter and I don’t know where to go to have a shoemaker reattach my high heel when it breaks off my favorite pair of shoes … you know the ones that don’t hurt and still look fabulous.
There is good news on the horizon however. I have found an old fashioned American shopping mall that is only about a thirty-five minute drive from my house. Now, if I can only find a chunk of time where I can go and research it out. I will have to subtract seventy minutes driving time and another twenty to thirty minutes parking and walking to the front door of the mall just to get to my destination. Then I will have to add more time to research the facility out to see if my favorite places are there. I’m not sure I will have enough time left to actually buy something. I think making this adjustment may take a little time.
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By: Alice Rene,
on 3/25/2011
I’ve often wondered why so many of the public figures in our society say “I take full responsibility for this problem.” These public figures may be congressmen, evangelests, actors, businessmen, and the list goes on. Their actions may be to abuse power, steal funds, or take part in unacceptable, and sometimes perverse, sexual behavior. Currently the inspectors of the nuclear plants in Japan admitted they haven’t done it right for years. The air traffic controller at the Reagan National Airport fell asleep, leaving two incoming planes to fend for themselves. Luckily no one was hurt. Where was the FAA in all of this? They haven’t taken “full responsibility” for the incident either, except to say there will be a “full investigation.” The controller has been fired, but we haven’t heard a word out of him.
I wonder why no one has ever come out and said, “I’m sorry.” It must be that saying I’m sorry means that you admit you have done something wrong. It implies that you must feel some guilt about what you have done. It makes you look bad. In Japan you will “lose face.” But if you say, “I take full responsibility for this catastrophe or problem,” it implies that the problem may have been caused by some other person, perhaps an employee, a spouse (for a failed marriage), an adolescent (whom you haven’t monitered closely,) a neighbor, a colleague, anyone else other than yourself.
I have always thought saying I’m sorry showed strength of character. It shows a person is confident enough in himself to admit to others his mistakes and feels he can overcome the problem and still be accepted. Perhaps I feel so strongly about the importance of saying, “I’m sorry” because my father never, ever in his whole life admitted he was wrong or had made a mistake about anything. That is, not until he was ninety-seven years old and was caught red handed in a mistake he’d made. I am so glad that happened. I can now remember him better for all the positive characteristics he had, and they were many.
0 Comments on Saying I’m Sorry as of 3/25/2011 1:31:00 PM
By: Alice Rene,
on 3/20/2011
Yesterday the little town in which I live had its first book faire. Well, it wasn’t strictly a book faire because the OjaiBookFest allowed renters of table space to sell goods such as decorated gords, crafts, pamphlets, and what-nots as well. However, as one of the booksellers (of Becoming Alice, A Memoir,) I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The first good thing that happened was that it didn’t rain despite the fact that it had been in the forcast for a week. Actully that is only partially true since the rain started at about two o’clock sending us booksellers into a frenzy to save our books from becoming soggy piles of wet paper ready for the recycler.That left me about three to three and a half hours to mind my table at the faire. In that period of time I sold a lot of books, but even better, I had a great time.
There is a method for being a bookseller at a faire. First of all the seller must be on his/her feet. So often when I looked around at the others, I found them sitting down, chatting with one another, having coffee and a snack and completely ignoring anyone that might be passing the table. The trick is to make eye contact with the passerby … not the person who’s selling something next to you. Once the passerby has stopped, smile at him/her. That’s the first invitation to maybe say something, like “Do you want to know what this book is about?” They may smile back, shake their head, and move on. That’s okay. Or, they may approach your table. That’s when you pick up your book and say, “You can find out what this book is about if you read this short synopsis on the back cover.”
If you’re lucky they’ll say, “Wow.” Then you can add whatever else you want. In my case I say, “It is a true story.” Now your passeby is engaged and will either ask more questions or make a remark like, “Oh, I’m from Portland.” Or, they might say, “I was in the war … I was with the occupation forces … we did this and that and this and that.” That’s the kind of engagement that ends up in a sale.
The best kind of engagement comes about when the passersby stop three feet from your table. They hesitate and look at the table and your invitation to read the synopsis doesn’t move them an inch closer to you. That’s when you smile and jokingly say, “You’re welcome to come and look at this book without buying it. It’s free to look … you can put it back down and walk away and I won’t mind at all.”
Of course, you already know that these passersby, who probably were afraid of a sales pitch, bought my book.
2 Comments on How to Succeed at Book Faires, last added: 3/22/2011
I can relate…
Food for thought for sure Alice. I do believe the comments made were in admiration of you. We will all become elders. I hope to carry some attributes which are positive and encouraging to younger women. I myself looked for such in my elder women friends over my lifetime, and found riches beyond my imagining.
Thank you for your kind words, Joy.