true story

Embarrassing!

/ roughwighting / 83 Comments

Embarrassed, memoirWhen was the last time you were embarrassed?

Embarrassment is defined as mild to severe levels of discomfort, usually experienced when someone commits a socially unacceptable or frowned-upon act.

The older I get, the less embarrassed I am. Hey, take me as I am, or don’t take me at all. But one of the stories in my just-published “flash memoir,” Flashes of Life: True Tales of the Extraordinary in the Ordinary, includes a tale entitled “How to Embarrass Your Kids.” Readers have told me they relate to my (tee hee) gleeful moments of embarrassing my progeny. Not in a mean way, but ….
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I’m Late to My Party

/ roughwighting / 211 Comments

eyes, late, PixabayAre you an introvert or an extrovert or in between? In the “old days,” being an introvert meant you were shy and socially awkward.  Most people who know me would say “Pam? No way.”

A psychology professor at Pepperdine University, Cindy Miller-Perrin, explains that “Shyness reflects an anxiety or discomfort associated with social situations, but introversion is really just a preference.”

Exactly. I prefer to be by myself for large stretches of time. I’m a writer, after all. But I also love meeting friends for lunch or a long walk.
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Snail Mail Snafu

/ roughwighting / 173 Comments

snail mail, birthday cards, mail, stampsYesterday my guy received five crank calls that made no sense to him.

The phone calls originated from a CA town where we’ve never lived. The first two calls were hang-ups, then three voice mails, delivered in a shaky female voice: “I have your card. Please call me back.”

“My card? What card?” he worried. He checked his wallet; all of his credit cards were in place. Continue reading →

Rainbow Tears

/ roughwighting / 137 Comments

tears, crying, Pixabay“Are you sure you want to go?” I ask Violet.

“Oh, yes, the evening sounds delightful,” she answers in her proper English, with a slight quiver to her voice. Violet’s small, hazel eyes beam, the thin white hair on her head moving as if in a breeze as she nods her head.

“Dinner might be enough. You’ve just only been feeling better,” I suggest.  Violet and I became friends while she attended my writing classes. We’re a strange combination: she is an 80-year-old widow from New Zealand and works in a New Age city bookstore; I’m married, decades younger, and work in the suburbs.

“I read the book, Violet. It’s a sweet romance, but it’s sad too. I’m not sure the movie…” Continue reading →