Written on Moving Day, January 9: It's the Little Things that Matter

One of the saddest things about my move was seeing my former cat Lyon's favorite toys suddenly revealed when a living room cabinet was moved. There they were: a light blue catnip mouse and a red-and-yellow hedgehog. The latter was a funny-looking toy, but I still remember marveling at the soon-gone identifying label. Without the tag, I wouldn't have had any idea what it was. Both toys still bore traces of cat hair mixed with dust.

Chasing those toys, and others, across the floor, where they eventually disappeared beneath the furniture, was Lyon's favorite pastime until he got too old for such frivolity. I always tried to retrieve the toys, but obviously those two got away from me a few years ago. Suddenly I remembered those years of watching Lyon and the cats that came before him at play, and I was sad. As I approach what will probably be my final move, nostalgia reigns.

When I first contemplated this move, back in 2004 or so, I made a point of asking if pets would be allowed at The Clare. I wouldn't have signed up if the answer had been "no." But little more than a year later, Lyon succumbed to complications of his diabetes. Will he be replaced? I don't know, but seeing his old toys reminded me of pleasant years.

In the traumatic process os moving, it is, indeed, the small things that are memorable.

More on Recording Life Stories

Thanks to Linda Austin (http://moonbridgeblog.blogspot.com/) for reminding me of the obvious: instead of using outdated audio casettes, a more modern way of recording seniors' life stories would be to shoot videos. Ideally, this would be done by getting the subject to talk about his/her life, perhaps surrounded by family members. It would be great to both see and hear the storytellers.

Poem-a-Day: My Departed Husband

My Departed Husband

My love.

He died eight years

Ago today, a man

Of action, charming, friend of all.

My husband Jules, thirty years my anchor.

Life goes on, it's harder, duller.

No wonder March is sad.

I remember

My love.

Copyright 2008 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Poem-a-Day: Easter Memory

Easter Memory

Easter.

Two years ago

In Rome, I joined the crowd,

St. Peter's square, too far away

To see or hear the Pope. Not Catholic,

I still absorbed joy, excitement,

Celebration, hope as

Spring beckoned that

Easter.

Copyright 2008 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Those Feel-Good Moments

Life tends to get a bit dull in the midst of a cold, snowy, dreary winter, but sometimes something that I see gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling. It's such things that we should remember to write about.

This time, I happened to see a TV news report on the Westminster Kennel Club dog show. Just the sight of that happy little Beagle, Uno, made my day! Somehow, the usual poodles and other more exotic dogs don't impress me very much, but Uno is different.

I'm basically a cat, not a dog, person. I had dogs during childhood, but my later city life has not encouraged me to get a dog. I don't consider a city apartment the best place for a dog. Frankly, I'm too lazy for those outdoor walks, especially in the winter.

Uno reminds me a bit of my father's long-time companion, Bill. I remember Bill best as a fat and ailing older beagle whose decline seemed to parallel my father's (he--my father--died at age 70). Still, I have a picture of my father with a very young Bill, just a puppy, and he was very, very cute then.

The sight of Uno doing his victory walk, tail in the air, strutting happily, brought back fond memories. When something makes you smile, take time to think about it--and write about it, too. I'll have to write more about my father's dog, Bill.

(Happy Valentine's Day to all! Tell that special someone that you love him or her.)

Finally! Archives for my eGenerations Columns

It has bothered me a bit that on those rare occasions when someone asked about one of my past columns, I was not able to help him or her. The current column was always there at the top of the "Connect" page, but earlier ones could only be found when they popped up at random. Now, at last, all the columns can be found at http://egenerations.com/write-articles.

For anyone who might be interested, here is a list of titles for the columns I've written thus far. I'll try to keep the list updated. You can find them all with the above link.

1. Tell Your Story!
2. Excuses for Not Writing? A Few Reassurances and More about Getting Started
3. Need More Writing Suggestions? Your Life Experiences, Your Special World, Your Legacy
4. Writing to Discover: Who are you? Where have you been? Where are you going?
5. Flexing your "Writing Muscles": Interviewing Others--or Yourself
6. Sharing Your Experiences, Your Memories, Your Stories: Printing, Copying, or Publishing
7. Writing to Heal: Writing as Therapy
8. Expressing Yourself On Line and Off: Journals, Blogs, Books, and Blooks
9. Tell Your Life Story Through Poetry?
10. My Experiences with Print-on-Demand and Online Self-Publishing
11. Does Your Writing Need Improvement? Self-Editing, Copy Editing, and Content Editing
12. In Defense of Old-Fashioned Communication: Writing Holiday Letters
13. Year-end Thoughts and Last-Minute Gift Suggestions
14. Looking Back and Looking Ahead: A New Year of Writing
15. Newspaper Book Reviews: An Endangered Species?
16. The Humorous Side of Book Reviewing, or Is It?
17. Internet Book Reviews
18. Become a Book Reviewer?
19. Fact, Fiction, and Book Scandals
20. Writing Inspirations, Part I: Photographs

Happy reading and writing!

Teddy Turns Fifty

It's amazing how a gift can lead to a lifetime of memories. This is my niece's favorite toy, a small yellow teddy bear appropriately named "Teddy," at age fifty. Here's his story:

It all began in December, 1957. I was a spinster school teacher in West Virginia (actually, I was only twenty-five, but earlier marriage was in vogue then) when I got the news that I had become an aunt. My younger brother and his wife were the proud parents of a baby girl, Cynthia Marshall. They lived in Iowa City, Iowa, where my brother was a graduate student.

Since Cindy was born on December 22, my Christmas vacation was the perfect time for a visit. Of course I knew nothing about babies, but I knew that a gift was appropriate. I headed for a toy department (Marshall Field's in Chicago, as I remember). I'm not sure why I was there--I didn't live in Chicago then, but I was probably visiting my parents in nearby southeastern Wisconsin. The store clerk suggested a very small, soft, washable yellow teddy bear as the perfect gift for a small baby. I bought it. Thus was Teddy born. I planned a trip to Iowa City to see the new arrival.

It was love at first sight when Cindy saw Teddy. From that day, he lived in a corner of her crib. As she moved along to larger beds, he was always her companion. Somewhat tattered, he endured a bit of repair work and even accompanied Cindy to college at Texas Lutheran.

Cindy remained in Texas after graduation and married, and I was barely in touch with her over the years. Of course I had forgotten Teddy, as I'd long ago forgotten any toys I might have had myself. As it turned out, Cindy remembered.

In 2005, I made my first holiday trip to Houston, Texas, to visit Cindy, her husband Scott Truby, and my grand-niece Lauren. Imagine my surprise to learn that Teddy still existed! By then, Teddy--and Cindy--were forty-eight years old, and I was seventy-three. I mentally filed away the fact of Teddy's survival, but I didn't actually see him then. Cindy delighted in telling me about him.

This year, I decided to take a picture of Teddy to commemmorate his fiftieth birthday. How proud I was at age seventy-five to realize that at least once, I'd found the perfect gift, one that has lasted for fifty years. Happy birthday, Teddy and Cindy, and I'll hope to see you both again next year!

Holding Cindy in 1957. Note the 1950's clothes and hairstyle. I don't look very comfortable!

Cindy sleeps while Teddy keeps watch.

Cindy holds Teddy.

My Niece, Cindy Truby, at Fifty (with new tree Santa)


Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne.
Photos by John Marshall and others unknown, 1957 and 2007

More Reasons to Talk, Listen, and Write During and After the Holidays

A survey by Ancestry.com uncoverd some surprising results, including the following:

-- Young Americans are looking to their roots. 83 percent of 18- to 34-years-olds are interested in learning their family history. Following closely are the 35- to 54-year-olds at 77 percent and Americans ages 55+ at 73 percent.

--Half of Americans know the name of only one or none of their great-grandparents.

--Twenty-two percent of Americans don't know what either of their grandfathers does or did for a living.

--Although America is known as a nation of immigrants, 27 percent don't know where their family lived before they came to America.

Never assume that no one cares about you or your family's history. Whether or not you want to get seriously involved in genealogy, listen to family stories and write them down. Otherwise, they may be gone forever. Write your own story. We're all part of our family's histories; we all count! The family get-togthers of this season make great opportunities for learning and sharing.

For more of the survey, go to this link: http://www.boomj.com/?page=lifestyle/newsdetail&storyID=112682552&password=fgjqui

Happy holidays! I'm off the Houston, Texas, tomorrow, but I'll be back by December 27. For more about my activities, see my other blog, "Never too Late!"

Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Enjoy the Holidays, and Prepare to Write About Them

At this time of year, you may be too busy to think about writing your life story; hopefully, you're busy living that story. However, as you savor every positive experience, chance meeting, or family reunion, think about what you can write later. Don't forget the unpleasant experiences or funny mishaps. either. Remember the stories of holidays past that you may hear from family members.

Every experience is worth writing about, so think about the people you love (and possibly whose who cause you problems). Remember the wonderful gifts you give and receive, and the less-than-wonderful ones, too. Enjoy, experience, and think about writing your life, as the title of this blog suggests.

More Writing Ideas: Tracing Creativity (and Other Traits)

In his essay "Your character evolves through time-a memoir prompt," Jerry Wexler, of Memory Writers Network (http://memorywritersnetwork.com/blog/your-character-evolves-through-time-memoir-prompt/) records steps in his development of creativity, from sewing costumes and assembling model warships to dancing, painting, and singing, and finally to memoir writing. He encourages others to try to same thing.

I second the motion, and it seems to me that this technique can be applied to many traits or personal attributes besides creativity. You might explore steps that led you to a certain career or hobby or special interest, or steps that led you to an awareness of yourself, or even toward religious faith or lack thereof. How about steps in your coming to understand a particular problem, and/or steps that allowed you to solve that problem?

The idea is to focus on specific memories and try to describe them in detail, creating pictures with your words. That's what good life story writers do

Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Holidays and Traditions

As I've suggested before for other holidays, why not write about memorable Thanksgiving celebrations, good or bad? Family traditions, family conflicts, cooking disasters, cooking triumphs: those are just a few of the possibilities. Don't let those memories be lost.

To see my recent post about Thanksgiving, go to my other blog, "Never too Late!"

http://seniorwriter.blogspot.com/2007/11/thoughts-about-thanksgiving-day.html

Organizing your Life Story

One question I'm often asked is, "How can I organize my memoir or life story?" Assuming that you have written a series of journal entries, in no particular order, where do you go next? How do you put them together into a booklet, pamphlet, or self-published book? If, like me, you write about whatever experiences come to mind when they come to mind, your material may seem to be an amorphous mass. Here is some of the advice I give in my book, Seniorwriting.

Read through what you have written. Do you find a recurring pattern, themes or problems or triumphs that appear often in your journals? If a theme or a series of themes stands out, that may be a good way to organize your life story. Some possible examples are family, funny stories, illnesses, family tragedies, hobbies, awards, military service; there are many other possibilities.

Do you prefer a more chronological approach? You may want to gather your stories together under time periods such as childhood, youth or teen years, adulthood or working life, retirement, old age, etc. You might organize by years or decades, as well. Another approach would be to organize by major life events or milestones: birth, religious rites, graduations, marriage, children's births, losses, retirement, etc."

There are several books available that make writing your life story almost a fill-in-the-blanks project. Use one of them if you wish. However, it's your story, so my advice is to organize it and tell it in your own way.

Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne

My Self-Interview

As I've said before, a self-interview can be a good way to begin writing. When Nathaniel Briggs, founder of the eGenerations web site, for which I an a columnist, came up with six questions for members to use when interviewing themselves or other members, I decided to try them out. Here is what I wrote for my eGenerations journal in August, 2007:

When I was a teacher, I often suggested that other teachers should try out their own assignments. Few accepted that suggestion, and I can't say that I've always followed it myself, but right here and now, I'm about to try it. Actually, I'm trying out a suggestion made by the esteemed editor of this web site. He proposed that members interview each other on eGenerations as a way to get everybody writing. I'm all for that, although I've taken a more casual, less formal approach.

I've interviewed others in my journal, and most of you have already read more about me than you want to know, but here goes: I'm interviewing myself to test out the eidtor's six suggested questions. I could write volumes on some of them, but I'll try to keep it relatively short. And I assume that most of you would choose from among the questions rather than try to answer all of them.

1. What's your most challenging life experience?

My most challenging experience involved dealing with the final illness and death of my beloved husband, Jules, in 2000. He was a wonderful, active, healthy, gregarious 70-year-old who still rode a motorcycle and enjoyed life. Then he became ill, and his pancreatic cancer was diagnosed in late 1999. There was no hope, no effective treatment, no cure, and to make matters worse, he had seen his younger brother die of the same terrible disease a few years earlier and vowed not to endure aggressive treatment. He didn't.

I had retired only a few months before he became ill, and this seemed to be the end of our rather fortunate life together--and my own life, too. I have no nursing skills and was an inept caregiver, no matter how hard I tried. The disease ran its course; he had hospice help, and eventually died in late March, 2000, in a hospital because I couldn't handle him either physically or mentally.

I didn't really hit bottom until about five years later, when I finally realized that I needed to do something with my life. I began, or in a sense resurrected, my writing career, and "the rest, as they say, is history."

2. If you could re-do something in your life, what would it be?

I would change very little about my life. I might have tried harder to make more friends, but being a loner came naturally, and I've dealt with it. I would have skipped my first marriage; there was nothing wrong with my first husband except the dullness I perceived in him, so we parted, fortunately with no children to be affected by our divorce. Of course the real problem was with me, not with him. The marriage was simply a mistake.

I might have tried to do more writing earlier in life, but my work ethic told me to have a career and always remain self-supporting (hard for a writer to do), so my choice was right for me. Yes, I've made some mistakes, but I have accepted myself for who I am, flaws and all.

3. Have you done any traveling? If so, where?

My answer is yes, I've traveled virtually everywhere. I succeeded in visiting the last two in my quest to visit all seven continents, South America and Antarctica, in 2005. I visited Ireland earlier this year, but travel is getting harder for my arthritic knees. I'm glad I had a wonderful travel companion until 2000, and that we didn't wait for retirement to travel. We began in 1974, and I'd begun earlier than that. Some of my travels are recounted in my book. I wish I'd known more languages (I'm fluent only in English) and been able to communicate better.

4. What life lesson have you learned that is most important to you?

I've learned many lessons, but perhaps the most important is tolerance of others and their abilities, flaws, and ideas. I grew up in an all-white, mainly Christian rural environment, but when I finally encountered diversity, I embraced it.

5. What's your favorite passtime?

Of course it's writing. I write for the joy of it, not for money. I admit that I get a thrill from seeing my name and my words in print and on line, and I don't think I'm overly egotistical. It's hard to explain. I also enjoy reading, opera, theater, and travel. I sometimes enjoy just sitting in my recliner thinking--and I always have a pen and paper nearby. My body may not be very active, but my mind certainly is!

6. What "odd" thing about you don't most people know?

I'm not sure what people know about me now, but I suspect that some don't know that while I'm a loner, I'm basically shy rather than egotistical. I'll never be a "social butterfly," but that's o.k. with me. People may not know that I've survived breast cancer and a broken pelvis, as well as a broken leg and a broken arm. Life hasn't always been easy. A few of my older friends don't even know that I'm a blogger! I hope everyone knows that I'm fine now.

An afterthought: I guess many may not know that this stodgy old professor has toured the U.S. and Europe on the back of her husband's BMW motorcycles. We traveled through the Alps four times, and our final foreign trip by motorcycle was our fascinating trip to Russia in 1990 (see the photo above).

Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne
Photo from the author's collection

Link: http://www.eGenerations.com

More Encouragement to Write!

In case you need still more encouragement to write your life story and/or to blog, or to urge your older relatives to do the same, check out this link to Ronni Bennett's blog, "Time Goes By." I, too, would like to have "conversations" with my long-departed ancestors, and except for my mother, none have left their stories for me to read.

http://www.timegoesby.net/weblog/2007/11/repost-extraord.html

A Reluctant Driver

As you can tell from my mother’s "How I Learned to Drive" below, driving was a sort of rite of passage as early as the 1920's. My mother learned to drive her uncle Bert’s Model-T Ford when cars were rare in her small town, and when it was very unusual for children, especially girls, to learn to drive. She admits later in her autobiography that, since her immediate family didn’t own a car while she was growing up, she didn’t have a chance to drive again until after she was married in 1930, but she was proud to know how.

I, on the other hand, grew up when cars were everywhere, and in the 1940's and 1950's, most young people dreamed of the day they would get their drivers’ licenses and their own wheels. For many then, it was just a dream, but for me, it wasn’t even that. I admired my Grandma Minnie’s old maroon coupe with a rumble seat, but I never really wanted to drive myself. Let’s face it: I was a shy nerd, and I was scared. I was a loner who, as my mother often said, "always had my nose in a book," and learning to drive was never on my agenda.

It seems strange today, but while I welcomed rides from friends and family, I never even tried to learn to drive the family car–and we always had one. I believe my younger brother learned to drive as soon as he was old enough (or earlier), but I somehow skipped that step. My mother claimed that I learned to drive a tractor, but I remember only terror in the field, not successful driving. Of course my brother eagerly took up tractor driving; our parents couldn’t have afforded to buy cars for either of us anyway, and we had no paying jobs.

I finished high school and college, earned my Master’s degree, and began my teaching career in the late 1950's, all without learning to drive. It wasn’t until I quit my doctoral studies to marry the son of one of my professors in early 1959 that my lack of driving ability became an issue. We moved to a suburb of Chicago, and I got a teaching job at Wright College on the northwest side of the city. I needed a car to get there, and before that, a driver’s license. I was twenty-seven years old.

I remember my husband’s (no wonder that was a short-lived marriage) trying to teach me to drive in our new red 1959 Chevrolet Impala, without success. I don’t remember the details; I was just too nervous. I remember trying to practice and ending up on a dead-end road in a small parking lot, where I panicked, cried, and only because I had no choice, finally figured out how to turn around and get out of there. I seem to remember doing some minor damage to that Chevy, but I’ve put the details out of my mind. Eventually I signed up with a professional driving instructor, passed my driving test in the Impala, and bought a red Corvair for myself.

All went well for a while. I kept driving, although I never was especially good at it. By the time I met my second husband, I was the proud owner of a cream-colored Corvair convertible with a black top, but by that time, I had skidded off an icy highway, and the car had a sprung frame. I replaced it with a Dodge Dart convertible, and then went on to my string of red cars (see my June 20 post below), including three 3-series BMW’s and my present 2003 Mini Cooper. I’ve avoided major accidents, but all of my cars have sustained serious dents and scratches from my pathetic efforts to park.

To this day, I have to make three or four passes to back my Mini Cooper out of my tiny garage parking spot; anyone else can do it in one or two. I don’t drive very often, and that’s probably good for the population of Chicago. I may give up my car when I move to the Clare in a year or so, and yet–those new Smart Cars are really cute. I wonder if they come in red?

Violet Learns to Drive

My mother, Violet Uhl Marshall Funston, wrote her life story, My First Eighty-Six Years: A Midwestern Life, in 1997. She died earlier this year at the age of 95, but it seems appropriate to use her work as an example of what we all can and should do to record our stories for our families. This story also is reprinted in Remembering Violet (see below).

How I Learned to Drive, by Violet Uhl Marshall Funston

My mother's brother Bert bought a Model-T Ford. He also bought a long linen duster, dark goggles, a special cap, and driving gloves, the accepted costume for all drivers. There were many cars in the cities already, but few in our small town, so I was fascinated by that Model-T. Every week I helped my uncle wash and polish that car. I liked to sit in it and pretend I was driving. I also liked to toot the horn. It made a wonderful noise, "Ah-Ooh-Ah," which frightened the neighbors' chickens, and according to the neighbors, affected their egg production.

Every night in my prayers, I asked God to have my uncle Bert, Grandma, and Grandpa take me riding the next Sunday. I sat in the front seat with my uncle and watched everything he did and asked him questions. Finally, I decided driving a car was not very difficult, and I started "bugging" my uncle to teach me to drive. Very few women drove cars then, and no children, especially girls. He finally agreed to teach me. We had our lessons in the cow pasture of a farm my Grandpa Blanchard owned. I learned to drive quickly, and I still believe that if you can drive a Model-T Ford, you can drive anything.

Let's Write in November!

November is NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), National Life Writing Month, and Family Story Month. Why November? Well, I don't know why, or whether, one month is better than another for writing a 50,000 word novel (not a task I'm likely to undertake), but it may make sense for life stories.

According to Denis Ledoux, of the Soleil Lifestory Network, "November is a great time, with the holidays coming, to discover that the best gift you could possibly give is one that can't be bought. To share a few stories of your life with those who mean the most to you is a very special present." That's essentially the message of this blog.

I hope my little book Remembering Violet (see my October 22 post) will prove to be a good gift for all the family members and friends who contributed, and for a few others as well. Thanks to computers and on-line self-publishing (I used Lulu.com) or local copy shops, there's still time to write down a few family memories, yours or a relative's, and distribute them as gifts.

Ledoux adds, "When you are writing your lifestory, it's not the Pulitzer Prize you're going for! We each store a unique treasure trove of valuable experience and insight in our memories. It's a loss for the whole community when that treasure is allowed to fade away."

Family Story Month is designed to let younger people, students, participate as well, perhaps by interviewing older family members about their lives.

Whatever your age and writing preferences, just write! If you can write that novel, short story, or poem, go ahead. But don't forget that Life Stories or Memoirs are also part of November's unofficial writing schedule. Just have fun!

Sources:

http://www.scrapyourstories.com/lifewritingmonth.htm
http://www.storyarts.org/classroom/roots/family.html

Photo: "Where I Write," by Seniorwriter

Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Tributes and Memories: Honoring the Departed

When my mother, Violet Marie Uhl Marshall Funston, died earlier this year in a nursing home at age 95, it was a sad occasion, yet in a way, a relief that her suffering had finally ended. She was a woman who led an active life and touched the lives of many friends and relatives.

She had several careers, completed college in her late fifties and realized her life-long dream of becoming a teacher, outlived two husbands, and later became a part of the lives of two of her great-grandchildren.

Only a few members of our small, scattered family and a few local friends were able to attend her funeral in Northfield, Minnesota, so I resolved to ask those who knew her to write brief tributes before the end of the year, accounts, serious or humorous, of their memories of Violet. Those who were not comfortable writing were asked to contact me via email or to telephone me for a conversation about her.

Of course some procrastinated and needed several reminders, but I eventually gathered memories from my brother, niece, nephew, three grand-nieces, five cousins, an aunt, and three friends. Fortunately, my mother wrote her own life story in 1997, when she was 86, so I was able to include some excerpts from that as well.

It was wonderful to reestablish contact with cousins and old friends I hadn't seen or kept in touch with for many years. The result was a little 56-page book entitled Remembering Violet, self published via computer through http://www.lulu.com/. It was a labor of love for all of us.

This book is not for sale; it will be distributed to family and friends. I hope it will help everyone remember what an interesting, vibrant, active woman my mother was for most of her life.

Completing this book gave me a good feeling. When you suffer the loss of a loved one, why not suggest or begin a tribute or memory book? It's fairly easy these days, due to improved technology, and not very expensive. It's a good way to pass along family memories and stories.

(While my mother was not a celebrity, and this book is not for general sale, if anyone would like to see it as a model or example, please contact me.)

Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne

Assignment: Write About Those Milestone Events

As you ever inspired to write about special events in your life, past or present? How about those "big" birthday milestones? They present good opportunities for introspection and passing along the lessons you've learned.

Do you remember any special birthdays or anniversaries from earlier years? How about writing down those precious memories?

Today is my 75th birthday. To see what I wrote, look at my other blog, "Never too Late!" It's nothing special, but perhaps it will get you thinking about what you really can and should write about the milestone events in your own life. Don't let those thoughts or memories get away!

Telling Life Stories Through Poetry: A Review

A Review of I Speak of Simple Things, by Donna G. Humphrey (Ampersand, Inc., 2007)

Donna Grace Glenn Humphrey, a native of Kansas, probably came to the world's attention only once, on February 28, 2005, at age 89. On that day, Mrs. Humphrey, mother of a federal judge in Chicago, became a tragic murder victim, along with the judge's husband.

This year, Chicago Tribune reporter Mary Schmich revealed, in a fascinating article, that Donna Humphrey had written poetry for most of her life, but while she shared some of it with family and friends, most of it was tucked into drawers and closets where family members found it only after her death. Fortunately, her daughters, Joan Humphrey Lefkow and Judith Humphrey Smith, joined Suzanne Isaacs of Chicago's Ampersand, Inc. to publish privately these revealing fragments of a woman's life.

Columnist Schmich calls the poems' style "plain and lyrical," and they probably do not rank among the world's greatest poetry. However, as a revealing record of a woman's life, these poems, "dedicated to the strong and noble women of the prairie," are priceless.

The book begins with "If I Were a Poet." It reads, in part:

"If I were a poet / I could speak my thoughts in language / All sublime and terrible . . . . But I, I only know of simple things / Heart-stabbing winter sunsets, / The unexpected thrust of pain / That tells me life is fragile . . . . My thoughts are not profound / I only speak of simple things."

In short poems gathered by the editors into "The Natural World," "The Inner World," "Time," "Home," "Longing," "Family," "The World Outside," and "Faith and Prayer," Donna Humphrey did, indeed, speak of the "simple things" that made up the lives of the ordinary women of her time.

Some of the poems reflect concerns about aging: "A book unopened in her lap, she rocks / And counts her gold in simple things / The heart remembers." In "Old Woman," she sees herself as an abandoned house. "I wait the Wrecker's ball / When with a sigh / I fall and leave a space / For building." "The Widows" begins, "We are everywhere / We with our perms / Our little purses / Our careful steps / Supported by our walkers / Or our canes. / We are the Survivors . . . "

Donna Humphrey, farm wife, mother, general store proprietor, office worker, and hospital assistant controller, lived for nearly 30 years as a widow. According to the book's introduction, she suffered from chronic depression. Still, "Through her faith, determination, and the love and responsibility she felt for her children, she thrived." She survived difficult times, and she lives on in her poetry.

Copyright 2007 by Marlys Marshall Styne