Humor consultant Bill Stainton offered this simple definition at a writer’s workshop: “Comedy happens when something goes wrong.” Bill’s explanation so closely mirrors my own writing experience.
“Don’t be shy about embellishing. Stretch things with colorful examples.”
Bill forgot to mention one oh-so-important addendum: beware the writer who lives in an Active Adult Community. I say this with all humility, but I’ve garnered very few unfavorable responses in all the years I’ve been putting pen to paper. I thank everyone who took the time to send their comments, both positive and not so much, to my editor. This has been a wonderful learning experience for me.
Who would have thought this quiet, unassuming little lady (me) would find herself in such a pickle?
A dear friend passed along this little homely a few weeks ago, and now it’s my turn to pay it forward. “There comes a time in your life when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it. You surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Forget the bad, and focus on the good. Love the people who treat you right, pray for the ones who don’t. Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is a part of life, getting back up is living.”
So what’s a nascent columnist to do? I guess I could fold up my Word Perfect and go quietly unto that good night.
On the other hand, as Fiddler’s Tevya wonders, “Sometimes I think when it gets too quiet up there, You say to Yourself, ‘What kind of mischief can I play on my friend Tevye?’”
The truth is I’m too young for Medicare and too old to go back to my old Human Resources position. I think I’ll send a few of my writing samples to the Sun Day and see where that might lead. Maybe the paper would have room for me next to my favorite column, Dining Out With the Geezers.
And that’s exactly how it came to pass that I met my editor. Just writing the words “my editor” makes me smile. At my age, who would think I would have an opportunity to have a, dare I say it out loud, a little senior career?
So my editor Mason telephones, and we decide on a day and time to meet. He sounds a little young on the phone, but in my excitement, I quickly dismiss this thought. After all, everyone is younger than I am these days. I need to focus my energy on assembling an interview outfit and getting to the beauty shop.
Tuesday arrives and clothes are strewn all over the floor. Should I wear a suit and pumps, a single strand of pearls with matching earrings? Maybe that’s too formal for an at-home interview. I finally decide on pants and a jacket, casual but professional, with the pearls, earrings, and, of course, the pumps.
I station my husband at the front window just slightly behind the curtain to alert me when he sees the car pull into the driveway. I dash quickly into the bathroom to double check. Is there lipstick on my teeth?
“Is that him” I ask nervously?
“Uh, I don’t think so. Did you order a pizza or something, because I think the kid is here with the delivery?”
In my mature and vivid imagination, I had visions of Ben Bradlee, Walter Conkrite, or maybe Tom Brokow arriving at my door. He’d be dressed in a tweed jacket with corduroy elbows, tie, dress slacks, wing tips and carrying a bulging briefcase.
These distinguished gentlemen arrive for appointments in stretch limos or at least have a driver. They are busy talking on the phone and chasing down breaking stories such as Watergate? Have I just completely dated myself?
“My editor” drives a Hyundai, wears shorts, sips an iced mocha latte, and may or may not have had his first shave.
My editor is young enough to be my grandson. Quickly doing the math, I realized with shock and awe I could have given birth to his mother.
Forget the pearls and thaw out the Oreos!
Well, we had a lovely conversation right in the comfort of my living room. Negotiating my salary turned out to be a snap – there is no salary. Never mind that minor detail, this is an opportunity to do something I thoroughly enjoy: writing.
As he munched cookies and drank his latte, I learned he wasn’t dating anyone seriously at the moment. I have a friend whose granddaughter just graduated with a degree in journalism and would be perfect for him. I’ll just give her a quick call while he’s here. It won’t take but a minute.
“Match maker, match maker,” my husband says. “Do you ever meet anyone and not try to introduce them to someone of the opposite sex?”
And just like Dolly Levi, “I’ve always been a woman who arranges things, like furniture and daffodils and lives.” My life’s mission is to make a match, a friendship, a connection with another person. This trait comes directly from my mother. For us, that was always the joy in living.
I landed the “job.” The kids are still seeing each other. And like Peter, of Single Man Infamy, my editor loves my chicken casserole, rolls, and homemade dessert. All delivered in a lovely reusable decorative basket. It’s just the right size for a potted plant and perfect for their first apartment.
Tradition!
