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Joanne Greene shares her flash nonfiction, each essay with custom music, showcasing tales and observations from her animated life. Her book, "By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go" is now...
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Joanne Greene shares her flash nonfiction, each essay with custom music, showcasing tales and observations from her animated life. Her book, "By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go" is now available as a paperback, e-book, and audiobook from Amazon, Audible, Barnes & Noble, and your local independent book seller.
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In this Story... with Joanne Greene
In this Story... with Joanne Greene
I Steal A Pair of Gloves
19 LUG 2024 · Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
In This Story…I steal a pair of gloves.
We were young enough to need a ride to the shopping center but old enough to tool around by ourselves for a couple of hours before meeting up with the mom-in-charge. It was 1968 and despite all that was going on in the world, and there was a lot, I was bored and in search of cheap thrills.
My girlfriend and I were in an Ann Taylor store where there was nothing in my price range. But purchasing wasn’t on my agenda that day. It was the “five finger discount” I was after. See an item, look around, shove it up the sleeve. I didn’t want a pair of fine leather gloves. Would never have worn the gloves – they were far too sophisticated. But they were flat enough to fit under my sleeve so in they went. My friend wasn’t looking – she was certainly not an accomplice – and would never have known of my bad behavior had the store manager not swiftly escorted me upstairs to her office. Clearly, I had no game. None.
As I followed her up the stairs, feeling like I was walking the gang plank, I wondered if my friend – not to mention her mother – would be worried about me. ‘Course this concern distracted me from whatever real consequences I would face.
“Please hand over the gloves and write your telephone number down on this pad of paper,” the lady said in a mildly annoyed voice, as though this exercise was pro forma, part of her job description. Silently, I obliged.
I squirmed hearing the familiar ring and pictured the black rotary phone with the twisted cord on the telephone table in the hallway at the top of the stairs of our two-family house. My mother answered.
“I’m calling from Ann Taylor at the Chestnut Hill Shopping Center. Are you the mother of Joanne….” and here she stopped, unsure of how to pronounce my last name. Rosenzweig. Tough on the first go-around.
“Yes, I’m Joanne’s mother, is she alright?” my mom jumped in, worried that I’d been hurt, never suspecting that her daughter was capable of committing a crime.
“She appears to be just fine but I’m calling to let you know that we apprehended her stealing a pair of gloves.”
A moment of uncharacteristic silence followed. Then my shocked and humiliated mother spoke.
“Do you need us to come and get her or will you release her to her friend’s mother who brought the girls there today?”
“That’s fine,” the store employee said. “I’ll bring her back down to the store and hopefully her chaperone will be waiting.”
My chaperone? More importantly, it sounded like I wasn’t being sent to jail. The crisis was thereby downgraded to having to face my friend, her mom, and then my mom. Descending the stairs, I tried to weigh which I dreaded more.
Our car ride home was silent. Mrs. Sherman didn’t ask me a single question. Every time we stopped at a red light, I knew that I’d have to endure this shame spiral for a little bit longer. Finally, she pulled up in front of my house and I quietly thanked her for taking me shopping and driving me home.
“Also,” I said while closing the car door, “I’m sorry.” Mrs. Sherman might have heard me.
Deep breath. Two down. One more to go.
I entered the house as quietly as I could. My mom both heard and saw me walk up the stairs, but she didn’t say a word. Unusual even if she hadn’t been called by a store manager to say that her child had stolen a pair of leather gloves. I stood there, waiting for the hatchet to fall, for the speech to begin, for something to free me from my self-imposed torture chamber. Her silent treatment was excruciating. I went up to my room and wallowed in shame, rolled around on the green shag rug in ugly humiliation, promised myself and anyone who might be listening that I would never steal again, and went deep into self-loathing. What’s wrong with me? Why would I do such a thing. Quickly, I shifted to when is she going to tell me my punishment? Yell at me. Ground me. Do something.
I marched downstairs and took a seat in the dinette. Wearing an apron, she was cutting carrots into small pieces when I asked, “Aren’t you going to say something? Tell me how ashamed you are of me?”
Without looking up from her cutting board my mom said, “I assume that you’re already punishing yourself enough. There’s nothing for me to say.”
I was stunned. She was right. Giving me a punishment would have let me off the hook, changed the subject, allowed me to focus on the punishment instead of my crime. I went back up to my room and considered why I wanted so badly to get away with something. What was the feeling I was seeking? I didn’t know about dopamine but, apparently, that rush was very appealing. My very wise mother made me think and dwell on what I’d done. Her approach was so effective and made such an impression on me that I used it on my son that time he…… uhhhh, wait a minute,…that’s not my story to tell.
We Take Off Our Clothes
5 LUG 2024 · Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
In This Story, we take off our clothes.
I never saw either of my parents naked. Unusual? Probably not for that era. But did it sew the seeds of bodily shame for me? Perhaps. There’s a fine line between modesty and shame. Modesty, for my mom, was tied to virtue, morality. Good girls were never naked. Even the word naked made her squirm. So, imagine the awkward moment when they took me to see the play Hair when I was 15. At the end of the first act, the lights went out briefly and when they came back on, the actors were completely nude. On stage. Front and center for all to see. I thought my parents might pass out. I was tickled.
I never much liked my body… too pasty white…too chubby in the belly. The focus was on how we looked in clothing. Was the outfit (and I quote here) “flattering to the figure”? “Hold in your stomach”, my mother would say, which these days sounds more like “engage your core.” Ultimately, it was solid advice, but for all the wrong reasons.
In the 60’s and 70’s, at least in the circles in which I traveled, there was peer pressure to skinny dip, when the opportunity presented itself. While I certainly couldn’t refuse to participate and risk being called a prude, I wasn’t the least bit comfortable and ran into the lake as fast as I could, wishing I had at least two more arms to more fully hide my body. The first time, it was pitch dark out and I consoled myself that no one could see much. Years later, at a nude beach south of San Francisco, I had to talk myself into removing my swimsuit top. And, even then, I was mortified. It took far too many decades for me to feel good about my body – to appreciate its beauty without being disgusted by my pouchy belly, ashamed of the sagginess of my boobs. I never once had sexy tan lines like my flat stomached friends. They didn’t know how good they had it! How can we expect girls to love their bodies if we insist that they cover up, even at home? I don’t think I would even have been permitted to be in my own bedroom naked, alone. Of course, the thought never once occurred to me.
My granddaughter loves to be “nakie” as she calls it. At home, with the family, it’s fine. She’s learned that it’s not appropriate to take her clothes off at the park, even if it’s hot out and she happens to feel like it. As a result of this body positive approach, she loves her body. ‘Course she’s only 5. How long before she, too, becomes self-critical, before bad messaging seeps in to pollute her healthy self-image? Hopefully never, but at least she’s starting out shameless and that, my friend, can only be good.
A Glimpse At My Idiosynchrocies
21 GIU 2024 · Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
In This Story, a glimpse at my idiosynchrocies. I’m Joanne Greene.
We all have idiosynchocies – things we do that are peculiar to us. My favorites, these days, are my morning rituals when, for starters, I’m thrilled to wake up Yes, of course, because I love life and am grateful to be alive once again. But, also, because I tend to torture myself in my dreams. Go figure. My lifelong anxiety is nearly gone from my waking hours but, at night, it percolates, poking at me with recurring themes. Last night, I was in endless lines, crowded spaces, and didn’t have the item I was in line to return. Often, it’s that I’ve overcommitted and then gotten distracted so that when it comes time to perform, I’m not prepared. The most frequent version is the dead air dream, unique to radio people. The song is ending, and I can’t reach the mic to start the newscast. I flip the mic switch to start speaking and I have no voice. While my dreams are challenging, I’m abundantly kind to myself upon waking up. First, I snuggle with Moxie, the goldendoodle and any other dog that happens to be visiting. Then, I might luxuriate in the hot tub, listening to the birds, inhaling the scent of jasmine, an embarrassment of riches.
And before you label me a hedonist, let me share that it’s taken me decades to indulge without guilt. Accomplish, produce, get stuff done. Those were my mantras. I’ve silenced the inner voice that said, “you don’t need a massage”; “you can get a new outfit if it’s on the sales rack” and “why do you indulge in Nespresso pods when you could easily just brew yourself a cup of coffee?”
Now…somewhat retired…and a survivor of loss, cancer, & being hit by a car, I’m giving in to pleasure. In the mornings, I try very hard not to rush. I make myself a very indulgent latte and get back in bed to do NY time crossword puzzles -wordle, connections and Spelling Bee. I share my scores with a couple of friends and text back and forth about whatever’s going on in our lives. I check my email, read a few articles, and maybe meditate before even contemplating the kind of exercise I’m going to get. The coffee is less an addiction than a ritual – a sweet, frothy, soothing balm that energizes me as I slowly ease into the day.
Mornings are glorious - filled with possibilities, a blank slate, moments of gratitude, …perhaps some writing and definitely a walk with the dog… Had anyone told me decades ago that this is how I’d be choosing to spend my time, I may not have believed them. But it’s sure working for me!
Contradictions
7 GIU 2024 · Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
In this Story, I Look At Contradictions.We’re lined up on the couch in a little row. Our micro-mini golden doodle granddog, curled up, eyes closed; our three-month old grandson fast asleep in his dock-a-tot; and me. We’re in Culver City, California, on a Thursday afternoon in June, in a friendly Los Angeles neighborhood, filled with retirees and young families, hipsters and screenwriters, dogs and more dogs. As I gaze out the front window, I see a large Palestinian flag waving in the breeze. It belongs to the Syrian man who owns Jackson’s Market and Café. I get it. He’s collecting funds for Gazans. My son asked how I feel about the flag.
I shrug.“And how would you feel if it was a MAGA flag?” he asks with a hint of a grin.“Worse,” I say.“Yeah, that would bother me far more,” he acknowledges.He and I are both solidly rooted in our Jewish identity…Jewish and liberal.In a city where it’s cool to be Jewish (so I’m told), stars of David are worn proudly and this merchant gets to freely fly the Palestinian flag. In my mind, supporting the Palestinian people does not equate to being anti-Semitic. I’m aware that not everyone agrees.
We live in strange times. Israelis, those with whom I relate, want the hostages returned and a new government put in place. The most right-wing members of Netanyahu’s inner circle threaten to leave the coalition if the war ends too soon, which will mean new elections and possible indictments for the prime minister. I know I’m not alone in my utter horror over what happened on October 7th, in my pride over the Israeli people’s response in caring for one another when the government and military were on a coffee break. I also know that despite the fact that Hamas was democratically elected and that most Palestinians poled supported the unprecedented barbaric invasion, no civilian population deserves to be bombed and starved. Of course, Hamas embedded itself in and above schools and hospitals. We know that. But there’s a lot more to know and far too few of those who protested in university encampments were able to identify which river and which sea they were chanting about. History isn’t monolithic or absolute and the Israeli narrative of what’s occurred over the past 75 years is quite different from the story a Palestinian will share. Yet both people lay claim to the land. And there have been decades of attempts at peace treaties, but it hasn’t been possible to make peace with an enemy that doesn’t recognize your statehood. And no more children, no more people, should be killed. All of it is true in my limited perspective.
Like so many other things we try to categorize and label, there are no absolutes. War is brutal and rarely leads to equitable outcomes. Violence and hatred are part of the human condition. Because I happen to be a Jewish American, I’m committed to the safety and self-determination of Israelis, my people. Because the man who owns the market and café is a Syrian American, he’s supporting Palestine.
And so, dog on leash, baby in stroller, I order a Fatoush salad at the Jackson Market, honoring the owner’s roots and mine. We can peacefully co-exist, at least here in Culver City, for the moment.
Embracing Aging
24 MAG 2024 · Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
In this story, I embrace aging.
We had just shared Muir Woods with our grandchildren, ages 3 and 5. They seemed to appreciate the silence of walking through the Cathedral Grove, the majesty of being surrounded by redwood trees many hundreds of years old. Walking to the parking lot, en route to the next activity, we passed an abandoned phone booth, stripped of all equipment, but still standing as though in tribute to another dimension.
“What’s that?” asked my granddaughter, and I promptly realized that I, too, was from another time.
“Years ago,” I began, “people didn’t have cell phones. If you wanted to make a call when you weren’t at home, you had to look around for one of these. Phone booths, they were called. Some had doors on them; others were open like this one. Then you had to have the right number of coins to insert in a slot so that you could make a phone call.”
I was pleased with myself for explaining the concept in so few words, but she looked right through me, as though I’d been speaking a foreign language. To her, I was.
She can’t imagine life without a smartphone, the internet, a microwave, and Alexa. Why would she?
It’s a slow descent that happens if you continue living. In fact, it’s probably happening to you right now, accelerating to the point where you might find yourself saying “When I was your age, I had to walk across the room to change the channel…..to one of the two other channels.”
One minute, you’re rolling your eyes at your parents’ habit of clipping coupons; next thing you know, your kid is dumping expired condiments that have been in your refrigerator for years. “You don’t have to be so frugal,” I told my mom when she couldn’t break her old habit of making do to avoid spending money because, heaven forbid, it might run out. Now, my son questions why we fly coach, check the sale rack first, and get so much pleasure from following American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance.
Growing older, I’m beginning to understand, means being outraged at how much things cost nowadays, at being asked to give a 20% tip when you ordered your food at the counter, at being charged a convenience fee to order your ticket online when there’s no one in the box office to sell it to you any other way. To appear “with it”, we accept these changes as though they’re technological advances. How the hell am I supposed to remember every password? Have any idea where I parked my car in the garage that’s the size of six malls? Not wear the same thing to an event with the same group of people again and again? Either there’s an app for that or you just take a photo. I know; it’s easy.
“Count your blessings” seemed like the corniest possible phrase when my mother said it. Now, I realize how well it works to counter self-pity and keep you from falling into despair. I’m healthy. My husband’s healthy. Our kids and grandchildren are healthy. I am so grateful. Now wasn’t that easy?
Overcoming a Childhood Fear
10 MAG 2024 · In this story, I share a childhood fear that I outgrew.
Admittedly and with only minor apology do I share the truth that I’m obsessed with dogs. The apology is to those with whom I walk as the canine imperative forces me to stop and pet any pup in my path. I love almost every dog I meet and communicate with them in a way that makes me, dare I say, gifted? It IS a gift to be able to look into a doggie’s eyes and let him or her know that they’re safe with me, that I understand how hard it is to wait to be fed, to stare at the back door when you just have to pee, to have to be leashed, outdoors, like a wild animal. This makes it all the more difficult for those who know me, even for me, to understand that at one point in my way distant past, I was actually afraid of….cats.
I tried connecting in the way that I did with dogs, but they always walked away, unimpressed. Sometimes they hissed. Or swatted a paw at me. So rude. Two women – Ceil and Barbara, lived together across the street from us with their two cats: Penny and Kitty. – My mom said that Ceil and Barbara were old maids, like they didn’t luck out when husband shopping. I pointed out that they were a happy lesbian couple – it was obvious. They drove to their jobs at Polaroid together every morning and, in the evening, they called “Penny, Penny, Penny, Penny….here Penny, Penny, Penny” and “Kitty, Kitty, Kitty…… here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty.” It was the soundtrack of my childhood, punctuated by an occasional piercing cat cry that left me glad there was a solid door keeping me safe inside and them outside in the dark. I’d be walking down the street to school and one of them would dart out from behind a bush, scaring the bejesus out of me. (I looked it up. It’s a word…Irish in origin…small J so I’m assuming not disrespectful….) For years I would cower if a cat was anywhere in the vicinity. Cower. It’s true.
And then there was that one long night the summer after I graduated from high school, when I might have ingested a hallucinogenic substance. After listening to Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd on some guy’s waterbed – he was elsewhere - I wandered up to the apartment roof to gaze at the stars. It was so peaceful, and I was perfectly relaxed, lying on my back, when seemingly out of nowhere a cat sauntered up to me. She walked toward me slowly, looked me right in the eye with what I interpreted as kindness, and lied down next to me. For the first time, I wasn’t afraid of a cat. It was like someone flipped a switch and we were two beings, basking together in the warm summer night under the stars. I gently pet her coat and she purred in bliss.
Was it a magical roof? Do I attribute the sudden cessation of my fear to the fact that it was 4am, that she was a particularly docile cat? Or should hallucinogenic substances be investigated as a tool for ridding people of phobias? I don’t know…nor really care. While for the decades since, I haven’t been drawn to felines the way some people are, I can’t say that I’ve ever felt afraid again. Except for that one time when I was bitten by an adolescent tiger in a Mexican zoo….but that’s a different story.
Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
A Journey To Alabama
26 APR 2024 · On vacation, we travel for rest, relaxation & adventure. Other times, we brace ourselves and head out into a great unknown to bear witness, to expose ourselves to the horrors of history, to learn about people and actions that have impacted countless others, for generations, so we don’t let it happen again.
Visiting the Theresienstadt and Auschwitz concentration camps years ago was like that for me. Seeing where the horrors took place and hearing from people who lived it made history come alive in a very different way. Yes, it was painful, but unlike so many Jews, including my great uncles, I got to walk out and reboard the bus.
In many ways, my recent civil rights trip to Georgia and Alabama was like that. When you’re face to face with people who were there, on the very ground where atrocities were committed, you can’t pretend it didn’t happen. And knowing can lead to action.
As a child, outside of Boston in the early 1960’s, I heard about the civil rights movement. Of course, everyone is created equal, I thought, no matter their skin color. Why then could Hattie, our cleaning woman’s daughter, come and play at my house but I wasn’t allowed to visit her? If her neighborhood was dangerous, as my father warned, why did she live there?
The more I’ve learned about our country’s history, from slavery, through Jim Crow, the great migration, the fight for voting rights, police brutality to young black men, and mass incarceration, the more curious I’ve been to hear personal stories, especially from those who were on the front lines. As with Holocaust survivors, time is running out to hear first person testimonies from Bloody Sunday on the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, and from the park in Birmingham where vicious dogs and high-power water hoses were set on Black children.
Reading books, listening to podcasts, and watching films about the arc of African American history is powerful and, I believe, essential. To understand race relations in the U.S. requires an understanding of what’s taken place for hundreds of years and what is taking place today. But sitting with people – face to face – and hearing how their lives have been defined by the civil rights movement provides a deeper level of impact.
“I don’t know what it’s gonna take to make the world right. I do know that you should not be sitting, waiting for it to happen, for somebody else to do it.”
That’s the voice of Joanne Bland, a wise, passionate, straight talking, 70-year-old Black woman from Selma who vividly recalls staring into the window of the local drugstore where only the white kids could order sodas and sit at the counter. We met her in a large, dark space filled with artifacts and memorabilia from her life of activism. As a child, she told us, the women of her church were organizing to be able to vote in the upcoming elections. Then Reverend Martin Luther King Jr came to town and organized a Sunday protest march across the Edmond Pettus bridge. Joanne was 11 and she went with her then 15 year old sister, Lynda. When they came up over the high point on the bridge, they saw sheriff’s deputies, mounted on horseback, blocking their path. Within minutes, they were being chased and beaten. Lynda sustained serious head injuries but a few days later, stitched up and ready for more, Joanne’s sister went on to be the youngest person to march all the way from Selma to Montgomery.
Joanne Bland is among many featured in an excellent NPR podcast series entitled “White Lies” from which this audio was taken.
“When you talk about reconciliation, you have to talk about a way to distribute the power and nobody wants to give up any power. Any time there’s a minute shift in power, from the people who are holding the power, a battle ensues. I can give you a perfect example: the signing of the Voting Rights Act in 1965. Tell me one year it has not been under attack. C’mon, I’m listening. So, if voting’s not important, why would you try to keep it away from me and why would you try to stop people from voting after they get the right to vote if it wasn’t important?”
Joanne Bland co-founded the National Voting Rights Museum in Selma. Her sister Lynda Blackmon Lowery’s book “Turning 15 on the Road to Freedom – My Story of the 1965 Selma Voting Rights March” is appropriate for young readers and is available on Amazon. In Birmingham, Alabama, we had the privilege of spending an hour with the Bishop Calvin Wallace Woods Senior, perhaps the feistiest, most passionate 90 year old I’ll ever meet. He told us about the March on Washington in ’63, what it was like the day the 16th Street Baptist church was bombed and those four young girls were killed. Hearing his voice crack as he shared the pain he and others endured at the hands of Bull Connor, then commissioner of public safety in Birmingham, was so powerful.
“During the movement, the Lord brought different songs to us. Sometimes, we didn’t know what people were going to sing but he always taught us to join in with those songs of heaven that he gave us. And let’s begin with one we used to sing, “I ain’t gonna let nobody turn me around, turn me around. I’m gonna keep on a walkin’, I’m gonna keep on a talkin’, marching up to freedom land.”
Our group of 26 was both white and Jewish and it was evident that each of us felt the pain and applauded the courage of these civil rights heroes. We returned to our homes, changed and resolved to do more, as the battle for voting rights continues. White Lies on NPR http://npr.org/whitelies)
See the https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yxAMUh4i6c of Bishop Calvin Wallace Woods Snr. speaks to our Etgar 36 group at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yxAMUh4i6c
To purchase "Turning 15 on the Road to Freedom: My Story of the 1965 Selma Voting Rights March" on https://www.amazon.com/Turning-15-Road-Freedom-Voting-ebook/dp/B00KWG9J3Q/ref=sr_1_1?crid=L8MY8HX4IZ5V&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.6_xxEGWushkq6o17Ten5jyg9aPx4ziePIZ08MZ57Ajf1auRQ4oO5XHxHnlVrB9VU0XIxSC5pWQga-xRWxeBzoRaGAWGS2v6Mjabtk1VnEsgIBgJjA4r3yNKPUZnvlTJ0_8TWgm7IAuoeF-U0ILxeRuvePxpNVeBGxCkQzUn_lwuWV2mJOHdW3WLmiCgeQUNbdQ-P0yxel-b3AygRvCcsJAHGwSiwjU0y0MrHMd6U_8Q.N3FXXt_IdmUa21l_6ZfTMA-wu6qn8s4x804Q_ESqRdI&dib_tag=se&keywords=turning+15+on+the+road+to+freedom&qid=1714076701&sprefix=Turning+15%2Caps%2C202&sr=8-1 go to https://www.amazon.com/Turning-15-Road-Freedom-Voting-ebook/dp/B00KWG9J3Q/ref=sr_1_1?crid=L8MY8HX4IZ5V&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.6_xxEGWushkq6o17Ten5jyg9aPx4ziePIZ08MZ57Ajf1auRQ4oO5XHxHnlVrB9VU0XIxSC5pWQga-xRWxeBzoRaGAWGS2v6Mjabtk1VnEsgIBgJjA4r3yNKPUZnvlTJ0_8TWgm7IAuoeF-U0ILxeRuvePxpNVeBGxCkQzUn_lwuWV2mJOHdW3WLmiCgeQUNbdQ-P0yxel-b3AygRvCcsJAHGwSiwjU0y0MrHMd6U_8Q.N3FXXt_IdmUa21l_6ZfTMA-wu6qn8s4x804Q_ESqRdI&dib_tag=se&keywords=turning+15+on+the+road+to+freedom&qid=1714076701&sprefix=Turning+15%2Caps%2C202&sr=8-1
Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
Lessons for Life
5 APR 2024 · Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
SCRIPT:
In June of 1990, in a Wellesley College commencement speech, former first lady Barbara Bush said, “At the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, winning one more verdict, or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with a husband, a child, a friend, or a parent.” I’ve held on to that piece of wisdom, knowing deep in my soul that what matters most to me is my relationships, how I give, receive, and grow as a person, not what I accomplish externally.
Recently, for my seventieth birthday, my children created a list of 70 tips for life that they’ve learned from me. What a gift. It’s my values, my truth, my quirks, and my legacy all in one document.
I’ve apparently shown them that being in nature, hiking and reading, dancing and celebrating, maintaining strong friendships, and showing up for people when they’re hurting or facing a challenge are key to a meaningful life. Keeping promises, maintaining open, welcoming arms to new family members, working on yourself at every stage of life, believing in magic and exploring spirituality in whatever way works for you are all things I strive to do, and it fills my heart that they noticed. Apparently, I taught them to try to be humble, to live life fully, to be generous, and know when to laugh at your own expense, to be a hugger, to never miss a chance at a sales rack, and to love every dog. (The canine imperative was repeated in various forms. I guess I really made the point.)
After continually overbooking yourself, they wrote, just learn to lay low. Go to the spa and get massages, invest in your own rejuvenation. Material things don’t bring happiness, spend your money on health and education, travel – there is so much to discover in the world, and always remember where you came from, honoring generations past by sharing their stories and traditions with the next generations. Never doubt the worth of a good therapist, never turn down the opportunity for adventure, be spontaneous, smile, and give, give, give. The best gift is a lasting memory, consume the news even though it’s painful, cherish and foster your community, they show up for you when you need them. Learn to cook healthy food to feed yourself and your family and to bring people together. Never miss a Stevie Wonder concert, check in on people regularly, try not to put a picture of a naked guy riding a bike as your social media cover photo, but if you accidentally do, as admittedly I did, know that you will never live it down.
To be a grandparent is to give, encourage your kids to actually take a break by being a genuine caregiver to your grandkids, be your grandchildren’s safe space and also their most fun playmate.
Do fashion shows of your latest purchases and dramatically explain the discount, pick a partner who makes you laugh and holds you when you cry, light the Shabbat candles, take a hot tub under a starry night sky, journal regularly, and understand the other side, regardless of the context.
Letting go, I believe and now they do too, is a lifelong process and age is only a number. Disabilities are nothing to be afraid of. Treat everyone with respect and love. That one just tells me that they were watching. And Be Extra. Life is too precious to play small.
If this is what I’ve shown them….if this is how I’m remembered…I’ve accomplished enough.
I Pack My Suitcase
22 MAR 2024 · Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
In This Story... I pack my suitcase.
You’d think the more one travels, the simpler it would be to pack. But packing defies logic. The litany of “what ifs” that inevitably course through my mind when staring at an empty suitcase seems to grow. Do I start with the shoes and work my up or pick a color palette? Who will I see on the trip and what will they be wearing? Will I encounter self-appointed fashion police, i.e. women who eye your outfit and promptly place you in a category. She shops at Marshall’s. That might be said about me. I might want to look edgy but appropriate – funky, yet classy. Clothing should flatter one’s figure and must take age into consideration. No puffy sleeves, crop tops, or short skirts for me. Not anymore.
Packing should be easier as dress codes have been replaced by the ubiquitous yoga pants and oversized sweater ….jeans with a solid colored top and a light jacket. But which jeans? And which yoga pants? And can jeans and yoga pants really take you anywhere in the country, much less the world, as long as you have the right shoes? I’m exhausted already.
Let’s start with the givens, where I limit myself to a carry-on and maybean oversized purse-type thing for the flight. That is unless the trip is at least two weeks or involves multiple climates. Wear the clunkiest shoes – certainly boots if they’re coming on the trip –to conserve precious luggage space. Condense the toiletries when staying in hotels that likely offer free shampoo, conditioner, body lotion & a hair dryer. Fussy about your products? Then just bring enough for the trip. And remember your pills. That one is critical. Stuff happens so prepare for the unexpected and bring extras in case you’re snowed in, the flight gets cancelled, or, God forbid, you break a bone and end up in a hospital.
Essentials, these days, include charging devices, above all, an iPad, a Kindle, iphone and Apple watch. I mean, what if there’s a moment without entertainment or stimulation? I admit it, I’m hooked on the gear. ‘Course the most valuable function of my Apple watch is finding the iPhone that I misplace multiple times per day.
At this very moment, I’m writing about packing instead of packing. We're leaving on another trip the day after tomorrow and once again I will obsess about outfits and weather and, above all shoes. Comfort must be the determining factor but we're going to LA where style matters. I'm 70 but I'm still very much alive. It shouldn't matter what I wear, right? But it does and I still have to deceide. Scratch that. I GET to decide.
I Turned 70!
1 MAR 2024 · There must be an angel on my shoulder. How else can I account for the fact that
- a) My hair didn’t go up in flames the morning I lit the firepit with the gas up too high
- b) I wasn’t hit by the silent hybrid lexus on Birdie Drive while walking the dog
- c) I didn’t trip over the crack in the sidewalk while walking too fast after almost being hit by the hybrid Lexus
And then, of course, there are the other notable facts. I wasn’t killed in the accident...the colon cancer was only stage one...the lung resection showed no cancer at all. Some might say that I’ve been lucky. Others call me unlucky, to lose both parents and both siblings before reaching 60. But I choose, instead, in my wiser, more evolved moments, to focus on the fact that I had them in my life for as long as I did. Counting blessings can work when one is not depressed. I’m proof!
And that is why I’m not letting all of those pesky aging things get me down. Nope. Not me. Sure there’s a benign brain tumor that has to be checked each year; the TMJ disorder that makes me wear an ugly mouthguard and has me eating mush whenever it flares; there’s eczema in my ear; GERD & Barret’s Esophagus which requires daily medication and a periodic edoscopy; I had my cataracts removed and take eye vitamins twice daily to slow down the macular degeneration and then there’s oh so commonplace, wait, why did I walk into this room?. But all of this is manageable. Really manageable. In fact, there’s humor if you’re willing to go there.
I celebrated my 70th birthday with a gaggle of friends in Costa Rica, dear friends, friends who were always positive, never complaining, always on time, who stood up after falling saying “I’m fine!” (OKAY, I was one of those people. What’s a bruise anyway?) We hiked through rainforests and cloud forests, found the elusive sloth, the quetzel, a brightly colored tree frog, and even a taranchula with the help of Stiven, our exceptional guide,.We laughed hysterically as white faced capuchin monkeys hopped onto our table and stole the pineapple slices out of our pina coladas. We swam in the warmest Pacific ocean we’d ever encountered and zip lined in Monteverde, even taking on the Tarzan swing. If this is 70, I’m all in. And then….on the last day of the trip…Fred and I had the biggest thrill of all – the healthy birth of our grandson, Luca Samuel Greene.
So what do I think of aging? So far so good. Yes there are wrinkles and crepey skin, yes I need periodic naps and am told that I sometimes repeat myself. But, hey, I’m not going to stop pushing the envelope, taking reasonable risks, and surrounding myself with loving, authentic, smart, honest people because that’s what makes the journey rich and meaningful. ##
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Joanne’s book, “By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go” is now available from your favorite online book seller. Stay tuned to hear if Joanne will be speaking at a bookstore near you. If you’re interested in having her come to your local bookstore, contact her directly at joannergreene@gmail.com or get updates on her website at joanne-greene.com and make sure to sign up for her newsletter!
Joanne Greene shares her flash nonfiction, each essay with custom music, showcasing tales and observations from her animated life. Her book, "By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go" is now...
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Joanne Greene shares her flash nonfiction, each essay with custom music, showcasing tales and observations from her animated life. Her book, "By Accident: A Memoir of Letting Go" is now available as a paperback, e-book, and audiobook from Amazon, Audible, Barnes & Noble, and your local independent book seller.
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Informazioni
| Autore | Joanne Greene |
| Organizzazione | Gabi Moskowitz & Joanne Greene |
| Categorie | Diari |
| Sito | www.joanne-greene.com |
| joannergreene@gmail.com |
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