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Showing posts with label dairy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dairy. Show all posts

Thursday, April 1, 2021

Remembering an Infamous Man

Often, our personal memories of famous (or infamous) folks are more vivid and impactful than those provided to use by the news.

Such is the case of G. Gordon Liddy.

For those of you too young to know his name, Liddy became famous because of his role in the Watergate scandal during the Nixon administration. Some call him the “mastermind” behind the break-in that culminated in Nixon resigning.

Liddy spent more than four years in prison. He later said he’d do it all again for his president.

His loyalty to a difficult president and his participation of illegal acts made him a pariah to some. My mom never lost her empathy for him.

Mom and Liddy’s wife, Fran, went to the College of New Rochelle together. They were friendly and Mom lived in Fran’s mother’s home when Mom started her career as a teacher at an elementary school in Poughkeepsie, New York. They kept in touch as Fran married and started her family. Mom recalls the boys as being “good swimmers” and “each one of them was athletic.”

When Liddy ran for a seat in the New York congress, Mom held a cocktail party for him. She remembered her guests were more interested in drinking than listening to a fledgling politician, but Liddy was a good sport and kept his introductory remarks short and his humor sharp. If his later years evidenced anything, it was that he was passionate about what he believed in and didn’t shy away from taking action he felt compelled to take. “He had a dry wit that softened his imposing manner,” she recalled.

Why write these memories? I’ve written about Liddy’s involvement in a devastating chapter in


my family’s life. An arsonist burned down our family barn. Although not the lead prosecutor on the case, Liddy helped our family as much as he could.

The help he gave Mom and our family during that difficult time was enough to engender Mom’s lifelong sympathy for him. Be he good or bad, she wasn’t going to abandon him. During his four years in prison, she corresponded with him, recalling that his responses were “sparsely written” but appreciative of her connection.

When Fran died, her funeral was to be held in Poughkeepsie. A blizzard made travel difficult, but Mom made it to the church, only to find it locked. The priest said the storm had kept the family from traveling from Washington. Mom sent her condolences, but always regretted not being able to say her final good-byes in person. “I wanted Gordon to know I tried.”

When I told Mom of his passing, she said, “I’m truly saddened. I hope his death was peaceful.” She wasn’t going to forgive his wrongs, but she wasn’t going to take away from his good, either.

Of all the reactions I’ve read about his life, I think Mom’s recollection of him is the most kind.

 

 

Monday, June 15, 2020

The Uncomfortable Complicity of Silence

We are encouraged to say something if we see something. I did and found my voice.

Elder abuse is a hidden epidemic, one that will spread as the stress of financial hardships resulting from widespread unemployment and economic turmoil grows. It has no cure and the only known preventative is in the actions society takes. I learned it was essential not only to understand what I was seeing, but to have the courage to speak up.

National Council on Aging, NCOA, (www.ncoa.org) reports that approximately 1 in 10 Americans aged 60+ have experienced some form of elder abuse, with estimates as high as 5 million elders abused each year. Elder abuse is broadly defined to include all types–such as neglect, physical, emotional, and verbal abuse–one study estimates that only .07% of cases are reported to authorities.

When narrowed down to financial abuse and exploitation, the statistics are even more grim with the American Association of Retired Persons (www.aarp.org) stating that 1 in 44 cases are reported. Of those, few were prosecuted and even fewer resulted in conviction.

I held a natural reticence toward silence when I considered something was a private matter or a family affair. Husbands and wives quarrel. Parents reprimand children. Without physical harm, I did not understand my duty to report.

In elder financial exploitation, a bias exists to blame the victim. Granny should have read the fine print better or she freely chose that her child should have a new car or fancy vacation. It’s none of our business to question her decisions or to question the sudden apparent wealth of her child. By blaming the victim, we absolve ourselves of taking action.

I politely demurred and kept my silence until I realized the perpetrator banked on that, making me complicit in the crimes.

There is a price to the elder for our silence. NCOA stated elder victims have a 300% higher risk of death when compared to those who have not been mistreated. Then there is the price of the concerned person who breaks the silence and dares to question the bonds of trust within a family. I know this because I am paying the price of breaking my silence. By honoring the trust of a beloved elder, I betrayed the trust of a family member by seeking help.

At its core, trust is a slippery weapon when used against the elder. Age or illness may have diminished their abilities, but trust and judgment remain as their tools for retaining independence and relevance. The World Health Organization recognizes an “expectation of trust” exists between the older person and their abuser. The elder writes checks or signs documents with trust, even as their eyesight may fail them or their ability to decipher terms wanes. Two-thirds of abusers are those who the elder naturally trust the most.

The New England Journal of Medicine reports, "Perpetrators are most likely to be adult children or spouses, and they are more likely to be male, to have a history of past or current substance abuse, to have mental or physical health problems, to have a history of trouble with the police, to be socially isolated, to be unemployed or have financial problems, and to be experiencing major stress . . . Most studies indicate that older women are more likely than older men to be victims of abuse.” (emphasis added)

The urge to protect the abuser is my beloved elder’s greatest hurdle. Like other elder victims, she is embarrassed and will not admit to harm in fear of the consequences the perpetrator may face. Age has made her increasingly dependent on others and often the abuser is the person she most relies upon for her support. By taking action against the abuser, she risks increased isolation.

Laws, created to protect, necessitate the elder to bear witness against the perpetrator, leading to few Orders of Protection and abysmally low conviction rates. Legal standards to prove duress or fear are not calibrated to the frail.

I did not challenge my own silence when learning of a single instance of misappropriation. Yet, repeated instances exposed her inner turmoil and caused my concern. The family did not want to see abuse and challenged my intrusion. The authorities supported me and encouraged her to break her own silence, even while acknowledging the devilish difficultly in prosecution.

With the weakening of our economy, incidences of elder financial exploitation will inevitably rise. As employment weakens, it may be the elder with the only secure source of income through their Social Security, investments, or retirement plan. They are ripe for harm. We need to help elders by recognizing the patterns of abuse that evidence financial exploitation.

There is a time in life when the child becomes the caregiver, the overseer and the protector. As a parent or guardian, we would never let a child be bullied, abused, or hurt. As the tables turn, we must offer that same code of protection to our aging population. It is our time to speak up and ensure our elders are safe and protected.

 


Tuesday, March 27, 2018

When a Writer's Brain Turns to Mush

My writer brain is mush.

I'm supposed to be living the best of the writer's life. I dedicate 24/7/365 to my dream life of being an author. I love creating with the written word. I love communicating through words. I love the community which surrounds authors and books.

I haven't written a creative word in weeks and the prognosis does not look promising.

My dad died just before Christmas. Sure, grief's natural process dries up creative juices, but creative writing has always been a refuge for me. I could place my real life worries on the back burner while the front burner heated up stories and complicated the lives of my characters. The total immersion inside a reality of my creation has always been therapeutic.

It's not the grief that's draining me, although I'd be lying if I didn't admit to its pain. It's grappling with a world which has shifted on its axis that has me consumed.

My mom, at 90, is determined to live in her home as long as she can. The perils of her independence become more apparent with each dented fender, burned dinner, or forgotten conversation. The solid vessel of family now makes a tinny sound when struck revealing unseen fractures made years ago. Transferring the legal life of my dad to my mom and others according to his last wishes has been met with competing narratives and misunderstandings. 

And folks tell me this is "the easy death." One spouse dies and everything goes to the surviving spouse. 

I used to see the world in its simplified way. I didn't scratch the surface. I didn't think I needed to.

My dad's passing opened up portal to the future and I can see its dystopian shape skitter across my bedroom ceiling as I lay awake.

I will use the gift of words I am told I have. I will talk, and question, and answer. I will clarify and empathize and remain discretely silent. I will try to untie the knots of misunderstanding and hopefully keep the fabric of my family knit together. I will pray and I will cry. 

All of this takes the energy I need to devote to my craft. My fourth novel is halfway done. The other half will just have to wait.

But, I'm taking notes. I know my writer brain will come roaring back to life and I'll be ready.

Friday, November 24, 2017

Thanksgiving and the Tale of Two Hearts

Two hearts?

Well, one heart, really. Just mine. But sometimes it feels split in two.

This Thanksgiving holiday has been marked by wonderful visits. My husband and I traveled to New Hampshire to be with his family. Yes, I stuffed myself on a feast I gratefully didn't have to prepare. Returning the favor with a perfect post-dinner clean-up was a small price to pay. The annual family game night was topped by one of the most epic games of Pictionary ever. Have you ever played this game -- kind of like charades but with drawing the clues instead -- with two award-winning artists who can draw faster than you can think? Three hours later, eight of us had laughed ourselves silly. The next morning's breakfast started with reliving the highlights and laughing even before the caffeine kicked in.

And, of course, The Hike. As many family could manage, we hiked six miles to a remote pond and took the obligatory selfies with the perfect duck face and filters. My college-age daughter let me know I'm hopelessly dorky and my son laughed in a way that's reserved for the I'm-glad-I'm-not-seen-with-her-in-public kind of way. I basked in their gentle teasing because they freely gave their love and I felt new doors open in our relationships. They are becoming fine adults and my maternal heart swelled.

I'll cherish these memories and let their positive energy fill me and carry me on through the tougher times.

Because earlier in the week I was with my parents. I spent five days at their New York home and became painfully aware these will be my dad's last holidays. I left as my sister arrived, with all the Thanksgiving fixings packed carefully in her car to ensure her three Labrador dogs didn't feast early on the four-hour trek from her Vermont home. I spent my visit outfitting my parents' home with the stuff of the ailing and aged, taking my dad to doctor's visits, and checking his O2 levels. She called in hospice.

And this is where a piece of my heart feels as if I left it somewhere along the highway. The full spectrum of family pulled on me in one short week. I hurt for my dad. I ache for my mom. I felt surrounded by love and laughter as I texted and emailed and called for updates.

I cannot deny this process of life even as I know it inevitably leads to death.

So, for now, my heart is full to the point of breaking and I will cherish all of what these holidays have to offer.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

When the Dead Need A Hand

Photo Credit Matt Brown


He has come to me sometimes. At night. In my dreams. We talk.

Well, I talk and he looks at me. Bewildered.

In my dreams we are in the middle of a family gathering. I can hear my parents and siblings talking and laughing in the kitchen. Ice rattles against cold plastic in the freezer then chinks into glasses. Cabinets open and shut as a meal is prepared.

In these dreams, I'm in the living room with my three children and their cousins. Everyone is years younger. My nephew-now-father-of-his-own is in these dreams, sprouting chin hairs with skin shiny from the surge of teenager hormones. My niece is placing my now eighteen-year-old daughter on her lap to build a tower of blocks. Everyone is there, in that place so many years ago where nothing could touch us.

He's there too. Always standing off a little to the side. Laughing at something said. He's barely a teen. His wild, unruly hair is busy doing its wild and unruly thing. He's whole. Happy. He says something, tries to enter the conversation, but no one hears him.

Except me.

No one sees him.

Except me.

Everyone is years away from colleges to be decided upon or from the knowledge that marriages will fall apart or that a car accident will take one of them weeks before a twenty-seventh birthday.

"You're gone now. I'm sorry, but you're not supposed to be here." I tell him this because I can see he doesn't know. 

In each dream, I say the same thing to him. In each dream, he looks at me. Bewildered.

The first few dreams like this I awoke, sobbing with grief made fresh. He was so confused. He wasn't ready to be not heard or seen. "You're gone now. They can't see you." Then, I mustered all the strength I could from the love I have for him and said, "You're dead." 

I know a part of me needed to say those words so I could believe it, too.

Last night, in the middle of a living room strewn with plastic toys, shredded gift wrap, kids, and dogs, I stood with him in the hallway and said those words again.

This time, something flickered behind his too-young eyes. 

He was beginning to understand.

I was beginning to question.

Is there life after death? When someone so alive, so vital, and filled with all of the good things life has to offer and then is gone in a split second, what happens next?

I don't know, but I don't feel as if these were mere dreams, some random firing of my brain cells at night.





Friday, April 29, 2016

Good Grief



Soul-shattering grief. Crushing sadness.

An inescapable fact of being human is we will experience the spectrum of human emotions. Humans don't live forever. Period. Grief will come in forms expected or shocking: A loved one reaches the end of a long and productive life, or a phone call or a knock on your door splinters your world. The inevitability of grief creates a shared experience, but the process of grieving itself is deeply personal. Does anyone truly know how you feel when someone you loved dies?

My nephew. My sister's oldest son. Her firstborn. Twenty-six. Funny. Handsome. Smart. Athletic. Vital. Loved.

Loved. Loved. Loved.

Needed.

Wanted.

Gone.

My family's soul has been seared by the heat of this loss and we are forever changed. Maybe our hearts were clay and are now hardened to the point of becoming brittle. Maybe the loss brought to fullness something within us that needed a catalyst to become completely realized. I only know the evidence of change will unfold in time.

I'm a seeker. I try to find meaning, purpose, and beauty wherever I can. This, however, has me stumped.

Six weeks ago, my world changed. I unplugged. I was too stunned to take in any more information. So, I stopped and looked around.

I saw my sister surrounded by a community that will not let her fall. I saw my niece step up to help my aging parents absorb the news and travel from Florida to Vermont. I watched as my children reached a deeper level of appreciation for and connection with their extended family. I glimpsed the world my nephew created through the hundreds of people who came to pay their respects. I stood amazed as my sister began her process of grief with a strength and dignity I could only imagine.

I saw a beauty in these things I did not know existed. I hold my breath as I write this: I saw good in the face of the unspeakable.

The full impact of our grief is only beginning to unfold. We've yet to gather at a Thanksgiving table with one less setting. We've yet to see the perfect Christmas gift that will remain on the shelf.

But, I will hold on to the good I have seen and know that it is part of our shared--and unique--journey.






Friday, March 11, 2016

GET PHYSICALLY STRONG TO FEEL EMOTIONALLY STRONG by Colleen M. Story

The word "strong" has many meanings. Is a person strong because he or she perseveres when all seems lost, or because they can bench press 200 pounds? Strength is not an either/or dilemma. Being strong of body does not preclude being strong of heart and soul. My next guest tells us that physical and mental strength are connected, especially for women. 

Why Women Who Want to Feel Strong Need to Get Strong
 by Colleen M. Story


When Connie asked me to contribute a post about strong women, my first thought was of my mother, and right after that, my grandmother and great grandmother.

I was fortunate to come from a long line of strong women. My great grandmother came over from Ireland when she was only 19 years old. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to spend months on a tall ship in those days—alone, no less.

My grandmother lived her life on a dairy farm, and after losing my grandfather when he was only in his mid-forties, spent the rest of her life alone, a strong and independent women who raised milking cows, young steers, chickens, cats, and dogs on her property until her dying day at the age of 93.

My mother fits the definition of strong in so many ways. She raised my older brother and me for several years as a single mom, and I remember her struggle to make ends meet. Regardless of how tight things were, she kept us feeling safe, and was sure to encourage us in whatever natural talents we had.

I could tell many stories of the emotional strengths possessed by these women, but interestingly enough, what comes to mind is not their ability to withstand life’s ups and downs while maintaining a great sense of humor, or their tendency to keep a stiff upper lip even during tough times. I’m thinking of a different kind of strength.

You see, my grandmother was a master at arm wrestling.

Physical Strength Encourages Mental Strength
Usually when we talk about strong women, we’re referring to those who withstood emotional and mental challenges to make significant changes in their lives. But what about women who are physically strong and resilient?

When you spend your life on a dairy farm, you develop defined muscles, and my grandma managed to keep them long into her senior years. She could also go toe-to-toe with you on most any subject, and had a sharp wit to accompany her points of view, but as kids we didn’t look forward to mental debates.

Instead, during our annual visits, we’d challenge her to arm wrestling contests.

Studies have shown that physical strength encourages mental strength. In the late 90s, for example, researchers found that strength training increased overall muscle strength by nearly 40 percent, while also improving mood, reducing anxiety, and boosting confidence.

Another study around the same time found that 12 weeks of strength training in adolescent girls improved confidence and general effectiveness in life.

“These findings offer preliminary support that weight training for strength can improve confidence about a variety of life tasks in adolescent girls,” the researchers wrote, “and could provide the basis for new modalities of therapy for low self-esteem.”

Even when my siblings and I were young teens and Grandma was around 80, she still had enough strength in her hands to give your wrist a twist, after which there was no coming back. We’d practice resisting, but it was near impossible. I can’t help but think now that her ability to stay physically strong had something to do with her avoiding any type of mental decline, as well.

A 2015 study found it to be true. One group of participants who already had mild cognitive impairment went through six months of weight training. The other, a control group, did not. Results showed that those who trained experienced significant improvements in overall cognitive function, specifically in abilities like planning, organizing, devising strategies, and visual memory. The improvements were still there twelve months after the training stopped.

“We know weight training stimulates hormones that make muscles grow and it's possible these hormones are also having similar benefits for brain function," said Professor Fiatarone Singh.

In a report by the Centers for Disease Prevention and Control (CDC), scientists state that strength training not only reduces the effects of arthritis, diabetes, heart disease, osteoporosis, and back pain, but can have a major effect on a person’s mental and emotional health.

“Strength training exercises can also reduce depression and boost self-confidence and self-esteem,” the authors wrote, “and improve your sense of well-being.”

Sometimes the Body Needs to Come First
I’ve noticed the effects myself. Growing up on the ranch, I was challenging my muscles every day, but after I left home and settled into my work as a writer, things changed. I started to feel tired more often, and my body felt soft and squishy. I now know that much of that was because I had lost muscle.

When I got back into doing some push-ups, and started lifting hand weights and working with resistance bands, I felt my old strength come back—and with it, a renewed vigor in the mornings. I was ready to tackle my day in ways I wasn’t before. I also felt the effects in an increased sense of confidence and empowerment.

“Strong girls exude a confidence that is intoxicating,” says fitness blogger Neghar Fonooni. “When you realize your outer strength, you can tap into your inner strength, and that begins to radiate.”

It’s a shame that many women feel averse to strength training, convinced it’s a “guy thing,” because there’s nothing like feeling the ease of lifting your own 50-pound bag of dog food into the trunk, or being able to dash out 20 push-ups without breaking a sweat.

Young girls, in particular, who are used to their role models looking stick-thin, may be afraid to develop too many muscles, fearing they’ll look freakish, but the reality is that getting stronger helps define a woman’s figure and creates more attractive curves. But these may be considered secondary to the mental and emotional benefits.

Lyn Paul, a Montana State University Extension professor who studied the effect of weight training on women, told the Los Angeles Times that regardless of age, women gain self-confidence from getting stronger.

"My study found that the No. 1 benefit of strength is that the enhanced function makes them feel empowered," she said. "This whets their appetite for more strength, pushing them further down the health-and-fitness road."

Personal trainer Alexa Towersey has had similar experiences with her clients. “Weight training doesn’t just deliver a strong, healthy body and a beautiful aesthetic, it’s also very empowering. There is nothing more rewarding than watching a woman lifting heavy weights with confidence, and then watching how this translates into her attitude toward the rest of her life.”

Try Getting Physically Stronger to Feel Emotionally Stronger
I’m addicted to strength training now. I’m on the lookout for ways to get stronger that I can incorporate into my home-based routine. The strong women in my family continue to inspire me. My mom, for example, still throws a bowling ball screaming down the lane faster than any of her friends on the league—the only one of her peers that looks vibrant and strong on her way up to the red line.

If you’re a woman who may be feeling a little unsure of yourself, I encourage you to try strength training, if you haven’t already. You may be surprised at the results. As you lift more pounds, you may find that you’re able to approach other things in your life with increased inner strength, as well.

If nothing else, imagine someday smoking your grandkid in an arm wrestling contest.

Sources
Tsutsumi T., et al., “Physical fitness and psychological benefits of strength training in community dwelling older adults,” Appl Human Sci., November 1997; 16(6):257-66, http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/9545677.

Jean Barrett Holloway, “Self-Efficacy and Training for Strength in Adolescent Girls,” Journal of Applied Psychology, June 1988; 18(8): 699-719, http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1559-1816.1988.tb00046.x/abstract;jsessionid=17DD4304C5E3570CCD80A3338E6F0D72.f01t04.


Roy Wallack, “Women find boost in ability and other benefits in strength training,” Los Angeles Times, May 23, 2015, http://www.latimes.com/health/mind-body/la-he-strong-20150523-column.html.

Rachel Jacqueline, “How lifting weights helps women shed fat and gain health and confidence,” South China Morning Post, December 19, 2015, http://www.scmp.com/lifestyle/health-beauty/article/1892386/how-lifting-weights-helps-women-shed-fat-and-gain-health-and.

“Pumping iron could ward off dementia,” The University of Sydney, February 16, 2015, http://sydney.edu.au/news/84.html?newsstoryid=14605.

Colleen M. Story has been a full-time writer, editor, and ghostwriter for nearly 20 years. She’s worked for high-profile clients like Gerber Baby Products, Kellogg’s, Fresenius Medical Care, and Nicole Miller Skin Care, with many articles appearing in Healthline, Renegade Health, Women’s Health, 4Health Magazine, and more.

She’s the author of Rise of the Sidenah, a 2015 North American Book Awards winner, and Loreena’s Gift, a literary novel released by Dzanc Books in April 2016. She maintains a robust inspirational blog for writers and other creatives at Writing and Wellness, with her own personal website at colleenmstory.com. She lives in Idaho.


Rise of the Sidenah is a magical fantasy about a young sculptress forbidden from practicing her art, until a powerful man offers her an opportunity she can’t refuse. He draws her into a world of deceit, murder, and betrayal, leaving her no choice but to engage him in battle to save the ones she loves.

·         2015 North American Book Awards Winter, Fantasy
·         2015 New Apple Book Awards Official Selection, Young Adult

Available at Amazon and Jupiter Gardens Press.



Loreena’s Gift: Loreena Picket thinks she knows herself. A blind young woman who lives with her uncle, a reverend at a small- town church, she’s a dutiful niece and talented pianist for the congregation. But they’re both hiding a terrible secret. Loreena can kill people with the touch of her hand.

While her uncle sees her as an angel of mercy, helping usher the terminally ill members of his flock into the afterlife, Loreena has her doubts. She cooperates with her uncle until her troubled older brother returns to town. When she reveals her power by saving him from a local drug dealer, she is drawn into a sinister and dangerous world that will test the true nature of her talent and force her to consider how far she is willing to go to survive.

Release Date April 12, 2016. Available at all online bookstores and from Dzanc Books.




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FRIDAY FEATURES is a steady presence on Out of the Fog where I explore the concept of "strong women." Who are they? What makes them strong? How do we see them in writing and/or in business? If you're an author, what is their place in the world of thrillers of mysteries? If you're in business, how is the working environment impacted by the presence of a "strong woman" and how are they seen as leaders and team members? If you're an emerging strong woman, tell us about your journey. Have other questions you find compelling? Ask away and I'll post the answers here. 


If you have something to say about the topic of 

strong women, contact me on Twitter: 

@conniehambley.



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Sunday, May 17, 2015

Launch Week a.k.a. Who Needs Fingernails?



The time has come. My book-baby is going out into the world.

Remember when you were a little kid and you rode your bike around the block for the first time? Did you look back and see the look on your parents' faces? A mixture of pride and worry furrowed their brows.


I'm wearing that expression now. The training wheels are off and The Troubles is about to start peddling like mad on its own. Well, not completely on its own. After all, I'm a good parent, if a bit helicopter-ish in my devotion. The lessons of looking both ways, wearing helmets and elbow pads have been implemented in the form of critical beta feedback, manuscript reviews, and incisive editing. Orange safety vests of terrific cover design don the exterior. Hard won lessons of life and craft fill the interior.

Handlebar streamers of marketing make my baby a little more eye-catching. Launch events are as follows:

Newspaper Announcements: Poughkeepsie Journal
Stiletto Gang Blog Interview, guest of Marilyn Meredith (May 19)
Hartford Book Examiner, guest of John Valeri (May 19)
Femmes Fatales, guest of Hank Phillippi Ryan (June 2)
Jungle Reds, guest of Hank Phillippi Ryan (TBD) (My earlier Jungle Reds post as a guest of Hallie Ephron is here.)
New England Mobile Book Fair Meet and Greet (June 20)
Writers Who Kill, Blog post, guest of E. B. Davis (September 12)

Book Launch and Reading at Jabberwocky Books in Newburyport, MA (May 29)

...and several private book talks lined up, too!

Like they say in real estate: Location. Location. Location.
Sharing the front page with Ms. Peters and bestsellers is terrific!
So, if you see my book-baby out in the world, be kind. Drop me a note to let me know how she's doing. I'm always happy to chat.