P.J. Colando's Blog

Everybody wants to be part of a great cause, a tribe, a fellowship, a sisterhood — everybody except Henry Thoreau, the great American killjoy who chose solitude. While he’s an acclaimed wordsmith – with deep wisdom that can be mined from his writings – I’ve never understood America’s reverence for him. His aversion to living in a wider world, as an introvert, is not my style.

I am an extrovert, not one who relishes time alone, even when I’m writing. That’s what a good writers’ group is for, as well as the necessary suggestions for edits that fold into the re-writing one’s work needs. An extraordinary writers’ group helps one to boldly go forward. With buddies, people who understand the drill, the drudge, the dread of writer’s block.

A tribe.

Book clubs not so much.

For me, reading is a solitary occupation, a hobby that’s engaged me from an early age. The squabbling, the competing commentaries, augmented by copious consumption of wine, is not my style. I don’t need others’ opinions to validate or collide with mine. I’ve also found that the chosen book might not be one I’d choose. But, most of all, I decry gossip, the activity that women’s book clubs often devolve into.

I’m a longtime member of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group, though I no longer feel insecure about my skills. I used to feel cowed when among MFAs, but no longer. Writing, my elegant hobby, evolved into writing a series of award-winning books. I’ve grown with the applause, the critique, and the camaraderie. Like Thoreau (though I called him a killjoy, I admire his love of nature and for chronicling the lives of the freed-slaves who inhabited Walden Pond’s surrounds before him), I’ve strengthened and broadened myself as I’ve worked hard to hone the craft. I’ve worked and worked – with the affinity and encouragement within writers’ groups.

Now I proudly, firmly state, “I’m a writer.”

What about you?

P.S. Tribe members and friends. I had my post-op surgery appointment yesterday and received the doc’s applause because I’ve been a highly compliant PT patient, and I’m on trend to walk down the aisle at my daughter’s October wedding.  Whooppee!

 

A curious nature, coupled with a personal need for novelty and adventure, which may/may not be undiagnosed ADD, has ingrained wanderlust in my soul. Thus, I’m well-aligned with the American ideal of freedom to roam. After all, what kind of person would board a tiny wooden ship to cross a largely uncharted ocean? Further, what kind of person would leave every known aspect of their daily life, stuffing a few belongings into a Conestoga wagon, to homestead across a poorly mapped continent? What kind of person would sign up for a one-way ticket to Mars?

You lost me on that last one, but I’d try the other new frontier-seeking. I was born to roam.

A mere two months ago, I learned more about the Lewis & Clark expedition commission by President Jefferson. ‘Uncommon Courage’ is an apt name for one of the most famous books about their perilous adventures. Here’s a photo of the tiny fort they built to winter (in what is now Washington state) and replenish their food supplies for their 5000-mile return trip to report to the President. That it rained nearly daily, added to their misery… like the Mayflower and Conestoga wagons, I would have been intolerably grumpy, never mind all the hardships that preceded the expedition’s western terminus on the continent.

I’m firmly esconsed in the comforts of the 21st century, so forget the wagon and the wooden ship after all.

Since the early days of our fledgling experiment, a country born of war and discontent over taxes, travel has reflected the national character: restless, ambitious, and relentlessly determined to move forward, optimistic to the core. Maybe entitled to roam and explore, too. There’s always more to be and see.

The opening stanzas of Tom Petty’s, “American Girl” reflect my travel aspirations:“Well, she was an American girl
Raised on promises
She couldn′t help thinking that there
Was a little more to life somewhere else”

I’m actively engaged in the early stages of knee replacement rehab, bearing the pain of PT and following through religiously with the prescribed home exercises. My motivation is propelled by my need to resume our adventures – and to get out of this house!

I’m an American Girl: born to roam.

And, sooner-than-soon, I’ll be able to resume my roam… because my total knee replacement recovery is going well.

Four years ago on this day, a dog sparked joy in our lives.

June 16 coincided with Father’s Day in 2022, an auspicious omen of how our lives would expand because we were a childless couple. My husband would finally have his boy, an eternal companion that, although he didn’t always obey, wouldn’t talk back.

The photo above shows my guys with a celebratory ‘pup’ cake last year – everyone enjoying the moment, including the camera person (me).

My husband and I just celebrated 50 years of wedded bliss, bringing each other adventure, comfort, and ease almost daily. We live agreeably on most issues, ideas, scenarios, and friends. We share the same background, values, and mores. We respect each other’s point of view, intelligence… and sense of humor. We each center our lives, hopes, and dreams around each other.

But we agree that we lived 2D lives until Spark arrived on the scene.

A dog experiences life differently due to hypersensitive hearing and sense of smell. He’s indifferent to feuds and human nonsense and the daily bad news shown on TV. He doesn’t even require a stable of new toys, as some dogs apparently do. Give him his long-favored, soiled, and dragged-about squeaky toys, and he’s enthralled, sometimes gnawing off parts to show his devotion (?).

Spark lives a simple, but 3D life – and, thus, so do we. We focus on the senses of scenes now more than ever.

The photo above shows our trio at Bridal Veil Falls, Yosemite, where we celebrated three years of his entry into our lives. While we’ve always prized adventures in our lives as a duo, each adventure is enhanced by Spark’s addition. He’s prompted me to focus on the smells in the environment, something that my allergies used to prevent.

Acquiring a dog transformed our lives into a 3D adventure. Whoopee!

Enjoy this blast from the past – https://www.pjcolando.com/sparky-is-a-spark/

 

Not long ago, my husband and I were fortunate to attend a lecture featuring two neurologists who’ve investigated H-SAM, and a woman who possesses H-SAM (hyper semi-autograghic memory), Marilu Henner, who was one of the first people studied. It was an evening to remember, literally and figuratively – and within two miles from our home.

The NLM, Neurology, Learning and Memory University of California-Irvine (ICI) department sponsored the special event. The venue, the Barclay Theater, edged the UCI campus, and it was packed.

Rightly so, for their presentation was compelling – better than Oprah at her best.

With that rare memory type, Ms. Henner can recall every moment of her life, including sensory details. Wow – yet not, for some of the few who were born with it, it’s a burden and not a blessing or boon. But Ms. Henner, an actress, public speaker, and memory coach, thrived. She’s made it her mission to help others gain a skill level approaching hers, saying emphatically

“Your memories of your life are all you own.”

What a bold statement – one that flattened me at first, but as I warmed to the notion, I decided to work on my future days, to recall them more efficiently, more fondly, and more fully than my past.

As I reflected, I noticed that my husband and I had already dedicated ourselves to memorializing our good times. Following my parents’ model, I journaled during our world travels, storing them with our photo albums. Occasionally, I’ve reviewed our trip narration, particularly if/when we’ve returned to places we’ve visited before. (Egypt = three times). My husband was the one who initiated our year-end reviews, perusing our calendar with events posted and pictures pasted. One of his reasons for doing so makes me giggle: he wants credit for attending a dozen movies each year, not a preferred pastime.

Here’s a pop song that seems atuned to my thoughts –

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rlDTK6QI-w&list=RD8rlDTK6QI-w&start_radio=1

By the way, this is a cached post. I’m having knee surgery today and will remember little… yeah, anesthesia!

 

After this blog post goes live, my husband will take me for my knee replacement surgery. I’m unafraid, prepared, and ready because I had the other knee replaced last fall, and I know the drill. 

But also because I am a Nurturer/Examplar, that is, a firstborn girl.

There’s a paucity of research on the family dynamic to which I was consigned. There should be no blame, shame, or regret involved. It’s what happened to the girl in the middle of the photo, and I know that, despite all the blame/shame/regrets, I thrived! I became a woman of strength.

Being an eldest daughter means frequently feeling like you’re not doing enough, like you’re struggling to maintain a veneer of control, as the entire household relies on your diligence. Implicitly, I felt this, especially because two of my siblings had disabilities. My independent dependability was required. My stay-at-home mom was busy.

An online search revealed that most of the oldest sisters report the same. Across social-media platforms, they’ve described the stress of feeling accountable for their family’s happiness, coupled with pressure to excel. All had the impression that they weren’t being cared for in parity with their care for others. My mother told me I was independent – and so, I was.

A term has been coined for this set of feelings and behaviors: “eldest-daughter syndrome.”

That “syndrome” does reflect a real social phenomenon. In many cultures, oldest siblings as well as daughters of all ages tend to face high expectations from family members, so people playing both parts are especially likely to take on a large share of household responsibilities, and might deal with more stress as a result. But that caregiving tendency isn’t inevitable; it tends to be imposed by family members who are part of a society that presumes eldest daughters should conform to a set of standards.

Birth order can also create a hierarchy: Older siblings are often the babysitters, role models, and advice-givers for their younger siblings, though in my experience, they seldom heeded. – ha!

To be clear, birth order doesn’t create one’s personality, but it can influence how your family sees you and, for better or worse, how you understand yourself. Parents frequently compare their children—“‘This is my athlete’; ‘this is my bookworm’; … ‘so-and-so is going to take care of me when I’m old’”—and kids internalize those statements. But your assigned part might not align with your disposition, creating a kind of childhood prison cell.

As soon as I learned to read, I escaped into the other worlds of books. Further, when I started my post-career hobby of creative writing, I created a cast of three characters who lived in small-town settings like those in which I grew up. One was bossy, as the preacher’s wife; another was a spunky, yet traditional housewife; and the final of the gal pals was a secretary, one of the few professions offered to women in the 50s.

All might have been aspects of me, as perceived by my siblings. Which role do you think I made the main protagonist?

July 1 question – Is there anything you’d like to see changed, added, and/or rearranged about the book publishing industry?

Because I have no opinions about the July question/prompt, I decided to share a question I was asked at a recent writer event: Is every book tailored for a specific audience? For whom do you write, and why did you choose that target audience?

I used to struggle with this question because I didn’t study genre via an MFA. It was hard to pinpoint, since I use elements from a variety of authors that I read and enjoy. The dialogue of Robert B. Parker, the wit and satire of Garrison Keillor, the character development of Debbie Macomber, and the environmental settings of Fannie Flagg. It’s all in my work (though not nearly at their level). never approaching the prose of F. Scott Fitzgerald, the author of my favorite book.

 

 And then, the lightbulb exploded – ta-da! I just want to have fun!

Now I know exactly who my specific audience is: it’s me! Well, people like me, who enjoy “good stories” regardless of genre, often slice of life tales with no more story arc than Reacher. I’m a dedicated observer of others with a catalogue of characters ready to appear. I dig people, and I observe them, closely listening, watching their faces and body language, emoting.

I consider myself a “storyteller” more than a writer or author, and I strive to make every story as compelling as I can.  After 70 years of reading, I’ve acquired a bodacious vocabulary – and I adore metaphors and alliteration. I’m told my stories are entertaining, always humorous, and some weirdness is going on (even when I’m writing the serious stuff…it just creeps in). I’m gifted with an extravagant imagination, and I employ it as I write.

I want my readers to enjoy their reading experience as much as I enjoyed writing it.

For what it’s worth, I’ve decided Pat Jackson-Colando is the writer, based upon my extensive history of writing college course papers and thousands of clinical reports in my career as a speech-language pathologist. PJ Colando is the storyteller. Thus, a writer is formal and rule-governed. Is storyteller more casual and colloquial, as I’ve surmised? In my POV, yes –

Writer vs storyteller – it’s an artificial dichotomy.

From Wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia: In geometry, a square is a regular quadrilateral. It has four straight sides of equal length and four equal angles. Squares are special cases of rectangles, which have four equal angles, and of rhombuses, which have four equal sides. As with all rectangles, a square’s angles are right angles (90 degrees, or π/2 radians), making adjacent sides perpendicular. The area of a square is the side length multiplied by itself, and so in algebra, multiplying a number by itself is called squaring.

TMI, if you ask me.

There’s also the square where multitudes convene, largely in cities all over the world. The most famous in the US is Times Square, which, on New Year’s Eve, is quite the scene.

As an indie-pubbed author, I sold piles of my books, accepting cash, checks, and credit cards via Square. It was portable and free: a plastic white shape with a slot to swipe the credit card and means to connect to WiFi. It was convenient and a boon to small business.

Square is frequently used in phrases, such as “It’s hip to be square”, a line in a Huey Lewis and The News hit in the ’80s.

Conversely, it was not cool to be square in the ’50s. It was decidedly derogatory – a person who was rigid and unadventurous. A person who wasn’t likely to be my friend, though I was only in elementary school and wasn’t picky then.

Another phrase that’s been bandied about: “You can’t put a square peg in a round hole” – I know what that means, for I’ve spent a lifetime being that square peg.

I recently heard a new one: “Square the circle.” This idiom means to accomplish what appears to be impossible, especially in satisfying conflicting requirements.

Politicians, adept at strategic blather and derogatory remarks. annoy my husband and me so much that we’ve elected to not watch the news, opting for late-night satire instead. We mourn the loss of Stephen Colbert, the noble man who kept us informed with kindness during COVID, when other commentators masked up and fled for the hills.

Stephen Colbert squared the circle and achieved fame, but got fired for his refusal to be a square peg pushed into a round hole. He blurted truth to power with the sharp point of satire.

I’m not a square – I am a star. So is Stephen Colbert.

Dorothy Parker, one of my forebears – and models – of spunk and bite, famously said, “Guys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.”

Thank goodness I’m long-married to a man who continues to love me mightily, magnificently, despite our recent 50th wedding anniversary, which was celebrated with 150 new friends aboard a cruise on the Columbia River Gorge. Who needs passes when one has security?

Thank goodness also, because I’ve read and read and read to the point that I need the prescription glasses I was able to shed after cataract surgery a dozen years ago.

At our age, body parts have worn out, though thankfully not our hearts and minds. I require knee replacement surgery soon, and, from my experience with the first one last year, I’ll read a book/week as the prescribed distraction. No Netflix and chill for me, the one who’s read voraciously since age four.

Here are some of my pre-selection, Constant Reader (a term I’ve borrowed from Stephen King)

Pay no heed to the featured meme, my friend. I want and need advice in this new venture. Whaddayathink: 1, 2 or 3?

“Learning more will increase knowledge, but only attempting more will reduce fear. The more you try it, the less you will fear it.”   -James Clear

Have you ever felt like you’re in a slingshot, and someone is pulling back the string and you are about to explode into the universe?

My husband and I have been leading a small group study at our church. Voluntarily. Submitting to the gut punch of guilt that church leaders skillfully wield, we stepped in… over our heads. Treading water, fostering others’ growth – and ours, learning new ways to approach the many circumstances, episodes, and problems of life.  As humans, though created by God, we are all prone to being prisoners of our own pretensions and not mindful of His guidance… so why did our church leaders feel that small group leaders, such as we, could do better?

Though my husband skillfully queries motivations, reasons, and requests, I seldom do. I just raised my hand or nodded my head “yes.” Again, in over my head, though I held my head high, wearing the crown that comes from being the daughter of a King (think about it, church people), scrambling, learning, keeping abreast of my fears. Adventure, laced with fear, propels personal growth.

The study is based on AA’s famous and highly successful twelve-step program. Do what you fear, the founders’ wisdom proclaimed.

“You attract what you fear” is a psychological substrate. Further, “fear not” is the most stated phrase in the Bible.

OMG, I’m so afraid of 500 million dollars, a half-billion bucks of walking around money – bring it!

My husband and I just returned from our 50th anniversary trip, a Columbia River Gorge cruise – whoopee! It was a bit rainy, as expected in that area of our country, yet still sublime. We intend to travel more… after I recover from my second knee replacement,.. For this procedure, I have faith in my surgeon and my wonderful caregiving husband.

I fear not. I will “just do it.”

 

In two days, my wonderful honey and I will board a ship to cruise the Columbia River Gorge in the Northwest U.S. It’s a celebration, a vacation, a trip to acknowledge our 50 years of wedded bliss.

I recently lunched with a group of friends at a centrally located restaurant. As soon as I sat down, I realized the conversation was about annoying health aches and pains, so I added my share – not in the interest of one up-womanship – but honest sharing. (do the math on that previously stated 50th anniversary)

But then I stopped, because I realized we sounded like every movie cliche of old ladies. Gripes about aching knees, arthritic fingers, hip joints creaking, and getting up repeatedly to pee, disrupting a good night’s sleep. The multiple health issues that manifest in old age, are not the way to conduct joyful camaraderie and connection. It’s just a rote admission of being run down, seeming like an admission of old age’s defeat.

The government thinks I’m old enough to receive Medicare, and I’m not going to disabuse them of that reality

However, my truth is that I’m actually 27 – the age at which I experienced love at first sight with my husband-to-be.

I just refuse to sit around and commiserate about my health issues, though I fully empathize with the issues of others. I have the means and medication to manage my “one in a million” autoimmune disorder that vexed me for several years. And, I don’t have dementia… at least I don’t believe I do. (wink-wink)

Here are some new topic segues if your peers attempt to drop off a negative conversational cliff:

“Read any good books lately?” is a longtime favoritenow that summer is here and blockbusters rule, “Seen any good movies lately?” works well“What new exercise program have you begun?”What topics would you offer?