Next Time

When I was a kid, I remember believing the program dial on a radio took me from my little bedroom in Tennessee to places around the world I could only dream existed.  I would sit on the floor at night, holding the radio (with the antenna extended at maximum length) close to my ear while turning the knob and listening. Breaks in the static revealed music and conversation meant for listeners in far away places. It was probably my first introduction to hearing foreign languages spoken as many Spanish language formatted stations broke through after dark.  I learned a lot about music by doing this, hearing songs I liked and wanted to hear again.  It fueled my imagination; I wondered who might be listening to the song I was hearing from that "other-world" city, and it made me want to travel and see things beyond my own spot of earth.

That period of time was pre-FM, so the spinning dial that opened a gate to the world for me was strictly through AM stations.  FM (which had been around for a long time) became big in my neck of the woods later when I was in high school, which is probably deserving of its own blog post.  But AM radio ruled then and in our little community, just a few streets from our house, sat a giant 50,000-watt AM powerhouse.  It was no joke when someone said they could hear music from WFLI playing from the kitchen sink, or from an electrical outlet, or behind a wall, or… wherever and anywhere.  I thought it was the coolest thing.  It was music, and I was a kid opening my eyes to the world, and for some reason it meant a taste of freedom and the future.  Jet FLI, as it was known, reduced its power at night to only 2500 watts, which probably helped with other stations reaching my listening ears as I went in search of them once night fell.

It was about that time in my life when the use of “someday” and “one day” became a road map of planning things.  One day I would see this, and someday I’d visit that place; one day I’d accomplish (fill in the blank); a great deal of the time I did.  It wasn’t until later in life that those two expressions went from being a pursuit of dreams to procrastination and excuses for not fulfilling them.

On last season’s series of This Is US, the character known as Rebecca rationalized with another one: next time.  Spoilers are ahead in case you’ve yet to see it. With the show’s typical use of flashbacks, Rebecca found herself always using the excuse of “next time” to justify why she didn’t get to see/do something she had planned, usually when she took a backseat to what her kids wanted, or when time for her couldn’t be worked in around other family or work wants.  When it was revealed the character had early stage Alzheimer’s, she admitted to her son how time was running out for next times to happen.  This wonderfully written character said, “My life has been full of next times, things I assumed I would get to eventually. But now I realize I am running out of time to do them.” 

While there are people who live in the now and make the most of fulfilling every possible situation while they have it, that’s not a possibility for many of us.  We settle, balance, compromise, sacrifice, and excuse until we look around and are shocked at where the years have gone.  We realize the boat that’s carrying all of those others to the somedays and one days, and yes, now, left us behind and we’re just treading water with whatever time we have left. 

In 2015, I wrote a blog post (Your Life is Now), that explained how I’d basically started laying out a road map for my future when I was seventeen.  Recalling how I lamented a bit about wishing I could change some things, the biggest regret I had when I wrote it (and still do) was wishing I’d slowed down a bit and savored the now.  Hearing those radio stations through tiny speakers as a youth no doubt kickstarted my eventual planning for the somedays and one day; I can’t pinpoint though when it changed for me.  I have traveled, yet there’s so much more I’d like to see, but the urgency and need aren’t as strong anymore.  Maybe it’s my age or perhaps I’m finally accepting the now; like Rebecca, I also worry about running out of time, but I think that’s due to the unknown of what society is currently facing, in addition to how old I am getting.

I like to think being confined at home during this pandemic opened our eyes, brought others down to earth and made all of us appreciate how fragile life is and what a limited time we’re given. Realizing priorities. Based on some of the ugliness I see on social media though, I know I’m being naïve in thinking this. One can hope though. 

That early foundation known as music set me in motion, and helped me dream.  I wrote much of my book, Daniel’s Esperanza, listening to William Ackerman’s Meditations, and Ottmar Liebert’s Spanish Sun, all instrumental.  If you’ve read the book, and know the music perhaps you can visualize the story and scenes and how they came to be with this musical influence. It’s how I create. Listening to music. The artistic side continues but at a less frenetic and frenzied pace…in the now, and looking forward to next time more slowly.  

  

Face Masks

As the country takes steps to lift stay-at-home orders, it's difficult to believe that anything will ever be the same as we've known it. The future is about change and adjustment, compromise and being accommodating. Wearing face masks in public is the new normal, at least for the foreseeable future. 

Kudos to those who have made and donated masks; some of us are selling them, as well. Those provided via Pixels/Fine Art America are made from images created by artists on that site. All products are 100% satisfaction guaranteed. Below is a sampling of some of mine that are available; full resolution and the entire product line can be found at www.veronica-batterson.pixels.com. For masks, click on the apparel link at the top on the home page. 

Many thanks, as always, and please be safe, diligent, and kind. 

                                      

 

Kindness

During these trying, uncertain times when we need each other, I'd like to share some quotes, sayings and song lyrics that hold meaning for me. It's the small things that count. Stay safe, everyone. Care about others and be kind.

* You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you. ~ John Bunyan

* If you haven't any charity in your heart, you have the worst kind of heart trouble. ~ Bob Hope

* Oh, why you look so sad, the tears are in your eyes
   Come on and come to me now,
   and don't be ashamed to cry
   Let me see you through, 'cause
   I've seen the dark side, too
   When the night falls on you, 
   you don't know what to do
   Nothing you confess could make
   me love you less, I'll stand by you. ~ The Pretenders

* When the night has come
    And the land is dark
    And the moon is the only light we'll see
    No, I won't be afraid
    Oh, I won't be afraid
    Just as long as you stand 
    Stand by me.  ~ Ben E King, Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller

* Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow. ~ Helen Keller

* Out of difficulties grow miracles. ~ La Bruyére

* What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matter compared to what lies within us. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Gratitude

Some of my photographs at Palladio Interiors, Memphis

I’m sitting at my desk, nursing an injured foot while my dog snoozes on the floor beside me.  Gordon Lightfoot’s If You Could Read My Mind is playing as I write this.  And if you could read my mind…what a tale my thoughts could tell, too.  This past year has been full of life: of living this gift too many of us take for granted, experiencing what it offers and enduring what it doles out to you, embracing the miracle of life, and mourning the loss of it.  The same as every person does, we all go through it.  And then life goes on; the sun sets on the past, and rises with new opportunities and hope. 

On January 10, 2012, this blog took life and while I had great ambitions for it to continue, I never thought it would be active very long.  There was no timetable planned, just something new I started to promote my books and give myself a voice.  It has been a struggle, the reasons why explained in past posts.  Yet, it still chugs along and I refuse to give up on eight years of investment in personal goals.  So here we are.  For those reading what I post, there might not be much in the way of value to many; however, for myself the words are invaluable and at times therapeutic.

In recapping 2019, I will start with the best of the year which happened toward the end of it: the birth of my first grandchild.  Being there for my daughter and seeing her little girl enter this world is something I’ll always cherish. The darling one has charmed me already with her ready smiles and curiosity.  Another best is finally purchasing that second home so that we can be near her, something that had been planned for years.

Some highlights of the year included updating and launching my new website, www.veronicabatterson.com, and starting work on a play about the suffragist movement (I have been promised a staged reading of it upon completion).  While I have shared two new book ideas in previous blog posts – one historical fiction piece set in Memphis with a dual timeline about the Yellow Fever Epidemic and Martyr’s Park, and the other being an Almost Famous type story (see my short story in this blog, Stardust from April 6, 2017), the third book idea happened recently while making dinner reservations in Denver, Colorado! These ideas drop in my lap in the strangest of ways.  Rounding out the work, I had an art exhibit at WKNO’s Gallery Ten Ninety-One during the month of May, and my photographs were exhibited at Palladio Interiors in Memphis for six months (June 1 – Nov 1).

In August, my husband and I traveled historic Hwy. 1 along the coast of California.  With our drive originating in Reno, Nevada, we visited beautiful Lake Tahoe and historic Truckee, drove through Sacramento and the Napa Valley to Inverness and Point Reyes Station, then headed south along the coast. Stops included seeing family and friends along the way while enjoying the beauty of San Francisco, Half Moon Bay, Monterey Bay, Morro Bay, Big Sur, The Winchester Mystery House in San Jose, Hearst Castle in San Simeon, Solvang, Santa Barbara, Santa Ynez, 17 Mile Drive through Pebble Beach, Carmel-By-The-Sea, San Luis Obispo, Pismo Beach (not in any particular order, and certainly overlooking much). We had the best lunch at Phil’s Fish Market at Moss Landing, and I enjoyed great seafood tacos at a place near Torpedo Wharf/Crissy Field in San Francisco.  There was also a nice brunch with incredible views at Café Kevah (Nepenthe Restaurant) in Big Sur. We flew home from LAX, the least favorite part of the trip, with great memories and a lot of beautiful photographs.

The year began in the worst way, however, by learning of the passing of a friend, who was the daughter of a friend.  Death snuffed out a light that was too young and new.  She left too soon, and I can’t in any way imagine the pain her mother faces every day.

The final event of 2019 that I’m sharing is one that has been difficult for me to shake because I’m struggling to move past it; it haunts me, it won’t go away, and it makes me angry.  I remain shocked that it happened, question why every day, but more than likely I’ll never get an answer.  And if it can happen to me at my age, it can happen to any woman.  “It” has many names: GHB, Rohypnol, roofies, liquid ecstasy, Ketamine, Special K, GBL, club drugs, date rape drugs…they’re odorless, tasteless, and they can’t be seen; they can be slipped into a drink or onto your food.  If describing in humiliating detail the effects of what “It” did to me can help just one woman be aware, then I’ve made a positive out of something unthinkable.  I’ve also used this forum as I initially intended it to become eight years ago: a voice.  My voice.

On November 15, 2019, I attended an event in Memphis at a place where I have a right to be, and a place where I should not only feel safe, but be safe.  Within minutes of sipping a glass of wine, I started feeling nauseous and very warm.  Thinking all I needed was some fresh air, I stood up to make my way outside, took a few steps, turned and started stumbling, losing my ability to stand, much less walk unassisted. My vision became cloudy as well, everything was blurred.  I suddenly heard someone’s voice in my ear (a person I recognized) who helped me get to privacy, which was a room with fewer people, then he left to find help; I then remember setting my purse and cell phone aside, lying down on a settee and passing out, only to be forced awake by another voice I recognized (different person) urgently telling me to sit up. I’ve no idea how much time passed.  Eventually, I recognized two other voices (one was my husband); I couldn’t see any of them because I couldn’t make out shapes, nor could I communicate with any clarity.  I lost all cognitive function and vomited all over myself, shortly after that everything turned dark, and a chunk of time became a black void lost to me.  I have no memory of how I got home, only my husband relaying to me how I did.  My next recollection came at 4:30 a.m. when I awoke with a start in my own bed, clear-headed, scared and knowing something terrible had happened.  Something that had worn off and was no longer affecting me.

With all of this I was fortunate…lucky I was amongst people who I knew and who helped me.  It was fortunate that I didn’t choke on my own vomit, or that it didn’t prove to be lethal due to an interaction with prescription medication I take, that I didn’t go into a permanent coma or need a respirator.  I now know the potential horrors of what women face under the same circumstances if they’re alone or around strangers.  But I’ve also experienced a reaction to it from others, although not from everyone, that surprises me.  I’ve heard, “Well, no one can imagine who would do such a thing.”  That may be, but it doesn’t change the fact that it happened, and somebody did.  Another suggestion was that maybe I’d just had a seizure.  If so it was the first one I’d ever experienced and I have a lot of years behind me, but seizures are a side effect of these drugs. At any rate, it stresses the importance of medical attention in any such situation (intentionally induced or otherwise).  Timing is everything; it is critical.  It’s crucial for a diagnosis and to collect evidence; the timeline for such a drug to be in a person’s system is short (just a few hours), and it’s all the time a predator needs.  I didn’t get medical attention, and I wasn’t in a state to ask for it.  Two more things that are facts: I wasn’t intoxicated and I’d eaten a plate of barbecue for dinner at this very event, so it wasn’t due to the lack of food.  I was normal and coherent, and within minutes I was incapacitated.   

Which brings up two other things…how the burden of proof falls on the person who was victimized, and the victim is the one who has to protect herself/himself from it ever happening again.  How does one go the extra mile when you already run a marathon protecting yourself every day you leave your house?  Should I pack the car with water bottles and only drink my own at all events? Refuse to eat food that is served to me at the same functions (even though others are eating) out of fear?  As women, we have safety issues drilled in our heads from the moment we’re able to venture out on our own.  Do I look at it as, “Whew…dodged a bullet there,” and do a hand swipe across the forehead?  Sorry, I can’t.  All I know is this: it happened, and if it is what it appears to be, the predator who targeted me is still out there to do it again.  Just as bad: the expletive-filled slime knows he/she/they got away with it.  It’s illegal to possess such a drug, it’s also illegal to use it.  That night, apparently, I was the victim of a crime.  

This post is about gratitude, so I’m grateful that it wasn’t worse, and I survived.  However, I do everything in my life in a safe way, always careful (at times overly so).  I lectured my daughters about being aware of such drugs when they were teenagers and when they started going out with friends and on dates; I’m watchful and cautious. It still happened. One can be grateful and still be outraged.  That’s where I am, and seeking counseling.

A New Year, New Work

As I begin my ninth year of blogging here, I will start a January (which has almost slipped by already) post by sharing some new products from a photo I recently took, which I've added to my Pixels/Fine Art America site. This photograph was taken from my front porch in Colorado! Many products can be ordered with this image (as well as other photos that I've recently added). Check out my website at www.veronicabatterson.com for more information. A new blog post is coming soon! Happy New Year, all!

Boxing Day

(The following source is credited to the Farmers' Almanac.)

"Each year, on December 26th, several countries around the world celebrate a holiday known as Boxing Day. It is officially recognized in Commonwealth countries (places like the United Kingdom, Australia, and our neighbors to the north, Canada). Americans see this holiday on the calendars, but few know what Boxing Day represents.

In fact, even though this holiday has been officially recognized in the UK and Canada since 1871, many of the people who celebrate it each year are unclear on what it means or how it came about. 

Good King Wenceslas

The traditional Christmas carol “Good King Wenceslas” tells the story of one of the possible origins of Boxing Day. The events of this carol take place on December 26th, which also happens to be the Feast of St. Stephen. In the song, Wenceslas, a 10th century Duke of Bohemia, sees a poor man and he decides to help this man. The Duke enlists the help of his page in gathering food, wine, and firewood, boxing it all up so that they can take it to the peasant. Then, Wenceslas and his page brave a blizzard to deliver the boxes of goods.

Legend holds that Wenceslas’ actions started a tradition in which churchgoers would donate money during the Advent. Then, on the day after Christmas, the boxes of money would be broken open and distributed among the poor. After decades of carrying out this (un)boxing tradition, December 26 became known as Boxing Day.

Employee Bonus Day?

Another tradition says that it originates from the practice of the aristocracy giving their employees bonuses and presents on the day after Christmas. As the stories go, employees would take their boxes home and open them up with their families, hence Boxing Day.

What We Do Know About Boxing Day

We may not know precisely how this holiday came to be, but we do know one thing: The first recorded mention of Boxing Day comes from a 1830s version of the Oxford English Dictionary. The definition given is “The first week-day after Christmas-day, observed as a holiday on which post-men, errand-boys, and servants of various kinds expect to receive a Christmas-box.

In other words, according to this definition, Boxing Day is a day to recognize all the service people in your life by leaving them Christmas presents. This year, if you want to celebrate Boxing Day the right way, make sure to leave a box of goodies for delivery people, the sanitation worker, and all the other people that make life easier for everyone."

(Per the Farmers' Almanac)

Fourth Annual Mid-South Arts Against Hunger Food Drive

It's that time of year again. The fourth annual Mid-South Arts Against Hunger Food Drive (benefiting the Mid-South Food Bank) will begin November 18 and run until December 13, 2019.  Last year, over 4,600 pounds of food was donated.

This event is close to my heart and I'm very proud of how well it has been received in the Memphis area. Some of the arts organizations participating this year include the Dixon Gallery & Gardens, Brooks Museum, Ballet Memphis, Opera Memphis, Arts Memphis, Theatre Memphis, Playhouse on the Square, Blues Foundation & Blues Hall of Fame, and the Orpheum Theatre & Halloran Centre for the Performing Arts & Education. 

Collection boxes will be at all of the locations, so if you're in the mid-south area and attend an event at one of these organizations please consider donating some non-perishable food items. Many of the groups offer free admission for donations, as well.

Many thanks and Happy Thanksgiving.