Disproving Stereotypes

Have you ever met a Neanderthal?

Now ladies, I know what you’re thinking. If you’ve been in a bar, and a big, burly, hairy creature comes up to you and wants to drag you out to the dance floor by your hair, you would say, “yes, I have met one,” right?

Well, that’s not the kind of wannabee Neanderthal I’m talking about. I’m talking about something REAL.

You know I watch the Science Channel a lot, so today’s lesson is going to be about the disappearance of Neanderthal man. It has always been a mystery to why homo sapiens flourished, but the Neanderthals disappeared. Neanderthals weren’t wiped out by a meteorite like the dinosaurs,  nor did they die in a plague. They just sort of disappeared. Common thought was Neanderthals were too stupid to survive, and that homo sapiens hunted them down. Guess what? “THEY” were wrong!

When the homo sapiens left Africa, they went out into all parts of the world.  They populated the world as we know it. The Neanderthals population, on the other had, was a much smaller population. They, too, lived in many parts of the world, but the sheer numbers of homo sapiens overtook the neanderthals–and not by force–it was love that brought them together! That’s right, Neanderthals and Homo Sapiens “got it on” together, athe gene pool of the neanderthals was absorbed. That’s right, the two species interbred, and through this interbreeding homo sapiens absorbed the Neanderthals. Yup, that’s right. Scientists have proven that our  hairy ancestors are part of all of us.

How did they prove this?  Simple. DNA.

Well, maybe not so simple. It actually took five years for scientists to unravel Neanderthal DNA . Then they then compared it with human DNA from different parts of the world. What they found was strands of Neanderthal DNA is within human genes! Holy caveman, batman!

Now,  it’s not a big percentage — from 1% to 3%, but it is there. And the highest concentration of Neanderthal DNA appears in people descending from Europe ancestors, more specifically, the Tuscan area in northern Italy.

Scientists also have discovered other things about this lost race. They know Neanderthals made sophisticate cutting tools. They also developed a tar-like substance to hold the stone points on their spears. And they had to have had language to be able to coordinate their hunting teams.

So, I guess the moral to this story is, never judge a person by their suspected ancestry. At the end of the day, stereotypes just aren’t worth the effort it takes to create them.

Adventures With A Good Friend

Last night I got a call. “Barb! Are you okay? You’ve missed two days without posting a blog!”

I laughed. I was glad my friend was checking up on me because she missed my daily words of “wisdom.” Yes, I had been away. On Wednesday, I had my second writing class and had to cut the rest of the lawn. And Thursday was a real adventure. I wrote 15 chapters to finish my seventh novel and helped out a friend.

Our friend Patrick suffers from diabetes, and for the past several  months he’s had a rough row to hoe. He’s undergone several surgeries and does home dialysis everyday. He really hasn’t had a chance to recover, so the doctors don’t want him to drive.

Yesterday, he needed help getting to an appointment that would take a couple of hours and then he needed a ride home. My schedule was free, so I agreed to pick him up at nine o’clock, drove him to his destination, and then returned home to help Ken with breakfast. (He was sleeping when I left.)

About eleven o’clock, the phone rang. I anticipated I’d be leaving right away to retrieve Patrick. However, instead of going home, he was being sent to the Emergency Room. He had taken a tumble and hit his head. I was sorry that he had fallen–again–but I was relieved he would be checked out.

Patrick called me about three o’clock and said he was “free at last.” Ken and I got in the car and drove to the local hospital to take him home. But again, Patrick had another idea. He hadn’t been given anything to eat all day and wanted to go to a restaurant. I was concerned he might be too weak for such an undertaking, but he insisted he was all right. I parked in the handicap space in front of the restaurant, got Patrick and Ken’s walkers out of the car, then ran ahead of both of them to open the doors. Whew!

After everybody ordered and was comfortably sitting at a table, the conversation started. Instead of talking about world events, we talked about doctors, medication, and surgeries. Halfway through the conversation I said, “Boy are we getting old. Listen to what we’re talking about!”

Patrick and Ken just laughed. “Welcome to our world!”

The two of them are facing a life where the best years are in the rear view mirror, but they find humor in their situations when someone else might now. They revel in the good times and take the bad days as they come. They both are amazing. I’m lucky to know them.

Celebrate Nothing

Lounging in the Sun

Over the weekend, we celebrated my dog Ernie’s birthday. Of course, he had no idea why we were petting him incessantly the entire day. He had not idea why we talked to him in high voices and broad smiles. He just pretended we weren’t nuts and slept most of the day.

At suppertime, we treated him with a roast beef dinner with a side of cooked carrots and potatoes. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. He twirled around with excitement and a broad grin on his face. (Yes, he grins when he’s excited. If you don’t believe me, check out the Easter pictures!) At any rate, Ernie’s birthday ended with a happy dog — who didn’t have to wear a funny hat.

As Ken and I go through the MS journey, we use little events — like Ernie’s birthday — as an excuse for celebration. These little lapses of jubilation bring us both happiness. We’ve even made a party out of it not raining in the midst of a week of precipitation. It takes a bit of creativity and a little work to be silly for a few hours. But it’s good therapy to suspend reality and have fun over something that is really nothing.

Today we’re celebrating the first day it will be 80 degrees this year. We’re hauling out the sandals and shades and heading to the lake front to pretend it’s summer. Then we’ll meet a friend for an afternoon spent giggling over a cup of coffee.

When there are so many times of just hanging out at home because Ken is too weak to do anything else, these little spurts of joy in the form of made-up parties are just the ticket to a good day. It’s a way we cope with frustrations of daily life. We need the diversion.

So, as we kick back and enjoy the sun on Joyce’s porch this afternoon, celebrating a pretty day, what have you celebrated lately?

Welcome Back, You’re Dreams are Your Ticket Out

Today was the first class of my summer writing class at the community college. Right now I have 15 students, which is really a nice number for this basic class. Unfortunately, though, it’s been my experience to lose half of them by the end of the term. I’m hoping I entertained and cajoled them enough this morning to keep most of them engaged.

I’ve taught this class several times, and believe it or not I was just as nervous this morning as I was on the first time I stood in front of a roomful of eyes looking at me. Honestly, I guess I just have to accept getting in front of a class is just like when I was singing in front of audiences — the jitters will always be with me. But that kind of nervousness with sweaty palms and a few butterflies rolling around in my tummy  keeps me on top of my game. I’m alert and alive. Ready to give my best performance.

The hardest job that I have to do is to dispel demons of past “learning” experiences. I also have to kill the bullies who told these people they weren’t smart enough or good enough to be able to make it in college. I always address these two things during our first encounter. You see, teaching adults is different from teaching children. They carry baggage. We need to dump these negative attitudes quickly, so we can travel though the course work successfully.

Adults also need to know how they will benefit from the efforts they put forth. They need to see how learning English grammar will fit into their end goal. So, I also ask each of them what they want to accomplish and why they thought they needed to learn what I was hired to teach them. This discussion usually ends with a list of business communications they all will have to produce.

Then we read a piece by Sherman Alexie about being stereotyped, and I give them an assignment to write a paragraph on how they might or might not identify with the author. All of this is preparation for the future. They don’t know it yet, but I will instill in them that they are good enough for college courses by building their skills and their self-esteem. At the end of the day, we all need that kind of support–even the most seasoned writers among us still have to hear the good stuff.

So every Monday and Wednesday mornings, I’ll be doing my best to pass on my expertise about English grammar and basic writing, while my blog will have to go on the back burner until the afternoon. Forgive me, but it is for a good cause.

Some Thoughts About Mothers

Have you ever noticed that babies of any species are always cute? Off hand, I can’t think of one baby that is really too ugly to love. I think Nature planned it that way, so mothers would accept their children and not be inclined to kill their young.

Once you’re a mother, it’s a life sentence. The only way to stop being a human mother is to die. We don’t lay eggs and let them hatch alone. We don’t push them out of the nest. We don’t have some breeder give away our young. Even when your children are collecting Social Security, you’re still a mother. Other professions retire, but mothers don’t.

Motherhood is a curious role. You’re expected to be perfect and make all the right decisions, but there is no training for the position. It’s a role that is learned by example.  If you had a loving mother, you’ll be all right. But if not, well, you’re on your own, and most likely your children will fault you for the same shortcomings your own mother had.

I think mothers in general want to love their children. But what if you get a kid who’s turned into a person you don’t like? What if they make decisions that are hard to accept? Then what? Are we supposed to standby and not have an opinion. Aren’t we allowed feelings? Usually not.

Isn’t it always the fault of the mother that problems arise in adult life? Many psychologists believe that. Maybe they are right, but why does all the responsibility and blame  fall on the mother? Where’s the father in all of this? And don’t children have any skin in this game?

I find myself think about these things because today is Mother’s Day—a made up holiday where people try to make their mother feel valued with a card and a plant from the local nursery. And this is the first mother’s day my own mother isn’t here to enjoy the sunny day.

We were never close, but I find myself thinking about her. In her way, she was a good mother. She sacrificed for her children. She kissed our boo-boos and read stories before bedtime. She cooked good meals and kept our house cleaner than it needed to be. She was a stay-at-home mom who did the hard job of saying “no.”

As I reflect today, I just wish she could have found more happiness in what she had. I wish she could have learned to play a little more–even be silly once in a while. But I think she thought she wasn’t allowed because she had to be a good mother and set an example. I am thankful, though, she found us cute enough to keep us around to adulthood.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I hope you found the happiness you were looking for in heaven.

When A Key to Success Doesn’t Fit

“I don’t know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everyone.” ― Bill Cosby

This morning I found this quote and it resonated with me. Perhaps it’s because I grew up being a people-pleaser. I lived my young life trying to fit in the mold my parents set for me, and after I married very young, I tried to be what my husband wanted. In both cases, I was miserable. Big surprise.

It wasn’t until the death of my closest friend, did I start to figure out what was wrong with me. I had to face the truth. I had let others live my life.

Carolyn’s death was a wake-up call for me. It was  high time I started to live MY life and do what I wanted to do and stop trying to be what other people wanted me to be. And that took a pile of courage.

The first thing I did was enroll in college. At age 35 I was old enough to be labeled a “non-traditional” student, but I had always wanted to know if I could have cut it on campus. My four years of striving for my diploma did wonderful things for me. It was one of the best times in my life. I rediscovered the  REAL Barbara! I set a goal and accomplished it. In fact, I graduated in four years with eight semesters on the Dean’s List, awards for my writing, and had a grade-point high enough to wear a Magna Cum Laude cord around my neck as I accepted me diploma from the Chancellor.

But my voyage of discovery shook up everyone around me. It wasn’t pretty for them. They were living with a person they didn’t know because I had never showed them those qualities. My own mother told me going to college was “the stupidest thing you have ever done.” Then there were old friends who laughed when I cried over getting a C on a paper I had written for my 101 English class. And of course, a husband who put every obstacle in front of me to discourage my quest.

But when I was on campus, I was just Barbara again. I remembered that girl from a long time ago and it was an amazing getting acquainted again. My new cluster of young friends rallied around me; counseled me on the ways of academia and quirks of professors, took me bowling with them at the lanes on campus and just thought I was cool. It was so liberating to just be me again . . . until I went home and faced a husband who didn’t like the change. In fact, after graduation he said, “I’m glad that nonsense is over so now things can get back to normal.”

Nope. Things would never go back there again. So, we divorced and for the first time at age 40 I was on my own. Writing up a storm of journals that expressed my hurt and frustration that the people who said they loved me, really didn’t. They didn’t want ME–they wanted THEIR version of ME.

So, I started surrounding myself with people who did like me for me. To this day, they are some of my dearest friends. They have supported me in my career changes, walked with me through Ken’s illnesses, and have even bought my books. Some of them like the stories, others don’t think I am that great. But, it’s okay. I’ll keep on writing, keep on getting my books published and know that everyone has different tastes. I will never change my recipe because someone else  thinks I should. That’s not to say that I’m not open to knew ideas. I will look at my recipe for success and perhaps add a little spice–because I want to.

Last Chance for Fixes

Latest Novel from McCloskey

Yesterday I missed writing my blog because I had to anchor my big butt in my writing chair to proofread FINDING GESSLER for one last time before it goes to press. This is a necessary step because my publishing house doesn’t provide editing or proofreading. so the responsibility falls on the author. After the book has been formatted to go to press, the author is given 48 hours to comb through the text one last time to make last chance corrections. I always feel a lot of pressure at this stage because it’s my last shot to look good in the eyes of my readers.

This time I thought there would be less to “fix” in the 419 pages because I had added one more layer off scrutiny to my team. Linda is a wonderful proofreader, so I thought between me, Heidi (my editor) and Linda I would breeze through the manuscript and find very few things to change. Not so. I still found missing words and wrong word endings–two of my most notorious errors in my prose–to the tune of 4 pages of corrections. Damn! And because the manuscript is sent in a PDF file, I had to make a spreadsheet designating the page number, paragraph number, line number, prose to be fixed, and how it should read to indicate to the publisher where the errors were. It’s a very tedious process, and it took me from 6 a.m. to 7 p.m. to get it done. (I did allow time out for potty breaks and lunch and dinner.)

As much as I dislike this part of the process, I know it is so important. In many ways, I wish I could take another whack at my first novel because now I see many things that got missed or could have been better. Maybe someday that will happen if we do a second printing.

In my writing classes, I try to impress upon my students that we all make the same kind of errors over and over again, and they should analyze their writing and spelling errors to uncover what their personal shortcomings are. Knowing your weaknesses is a strength. But like many of my words of wisdom,  more often than not, my tips fall on deaf ears. The fact that the students don’t heed my warnings maybe do to the fact that most of them are not writers. They are struggling to get down a paragraph and be satisfied with their first draft. They don’t believe me that writing is a process. They just want to endure the pain once, get the assignment in, and get out of the class as fast as they can.

So, now that I’ve confessed to you my weaknesses, it’s only fair that you share your writing traps. After all, they say misery loves company.