Tag Archives: Alice McCormick

A Disaster Averted

Since arriving in late July to Grand Junction, Colorado, I endured an affront to my senses. A filthy toilet and an infestation of gnats were only some of the many hazards discovered in Mary Schenk’s condo next to a busy, extremely noisy intersection. Then there was her “welcoming dinner” that featured ground beef she never drained but instead incorporated into the meal. And she was unable to cook more than one dish for any meal.

Therefore, my gall bladder started acting up. So yes, I had to take over the cooking duties. That’s part of why last week the woman who promised so much, demanded that I take my possessions and move out. To where? She could care less, even though I knew nothing about Grand Junction.

When did she issue her impatient demand? On the very morning I was scheduled to begin recording an Audible of How I Became a Lesbian (and other stories).

Schenk’s attempt at sabotage failed miserably. After a week-long stay at a spotless, quiet hotel next to Grand Junction’s airport, three days ago I found an extended-stay facility with kitchenette at a reasonable, yet professional, rate. Best of all, I managed to keep two productive appointments with a studio engineer whose soundproof home and sense of excellence reveal his musical sensibilities.

Happy hour at the Grand Vista Hotel has a great benefit: A complete meatloaf dinner for 10 bucks!

My book’s introduction, preface and three chapters have been recorded already, so I’m on a roll. Nevertheless, I can’t help but feel alone. Thanksgiving is upcoming. Yet look at what this 81-year-old author has accomplished under the harshest of circumstances.

My days with Buckingham’s Quakers and as meditation facilitator at Pebble Hill tell me to express gratitude. Just look at the remarkable view from my new place, and I feel better about this sudden twist of face. No wonder traveling musicians find inspiration within the facility’s secure structure.

I complimented Travis on his weather-beaten hat. Little did I know he is a rancher with his own homestead above 8,000 feet. He is authentic, and his wife, Stephanie, agrees.

But before I can take a deep exhale, I need to update my address to several medical insurance contacts, my bank and credit cards. And I must stay positive; otherwise, it will show up while recording the Audible.

Keep the faith, baby. Keep the faith.

Moon over a multicolored dush adorning one of many mesas surrounding Grand Junction.

The Washington Townhome Is Sold

Take a good look at the woman above. It’s not the professional image she normally touts; instead, it’s the perfect representation of an experienced Realtor, whose 30 years of legwork make deals happen.

Tami Cheatley’s ability to examine construction and its flaws allows her to be candid with would-be sellers and buyers alike. I realized that right off the bat, because when I became a Realtor in Miami for three months, one truth sank in: Sellers have an inflated view of what their property is worth. So when Cheatley suggested a listing price, I didn’t argue. She priced it to sell.

This turned out to be a wise decision, because Realtors are besieged today with federal, state and local regulations spiraling out of control.

Once the wheels of selling my condo set in, I had no idea how the disposal of its furnishings would cost me emotionally. Alice McCormick’s vision was everywhere, and to pull it apart felt sacrilegious. Sparing me any further grief, Cheatley located a reputable estate liquidator named Stan, who managed a series of garage sales through local advertising and secure Facebook ads. In addition, he oversaw the cleaning of windows, rugs, bathrooms and kitchen, removing all worthless junk, and finally documented a fair profit from myriad sales of Alice and my lesbian life together.

The photo above shows what Cheatley had to do to deal responsibly with an unnecessarily finicky condo association and a newly elected president eager to create pitfalls as soon as he could think of them.

All this razzmatazz allows the proceeds that was won in the condo sale to be used to record an Audible right here in Grand Junction. We begin recording in earnest next month.

We do not plan to create a turkey! How I Became a Lesbian (and other stories) with fuzzy typeface and all, and its Kindle companion will remain available on amazon.com. But soon it will be available on Audible. And if sales are good, can a republished book be far behind?

Let the good times roll!

It’s Happened, It’s Live

Several times over the last 96 hours, my overactive brain found multiple reasons for failure in this book venture. Then Wednesday afternoon (3:37 pm Pacific Time), less than an hour before my ritual 420 observance, Amazon Corporation’s word came down:

IT’S LIVE.

My thanks go to many people. Feelings of gratitude are filling my soul.

When you order my book, make sure you see my name. Plus I’m the only author with “and other stories” in the title.

One more thing: The Kindle version is not available yet. Once that changes, I will post an update here. But don’t be shy. You can order a print copy today for $29.41.

On the Precipice of Publication

The wait is almost over. Then perhaps I can have my teeth whitened.

For six months last year, I pitched New York literary agents with book proposals for 74,000 words, 38 photos and four clippings, all connected to “How I Became A Lesbian (and other stories)”. The agents referred me to websites upon which to put my work, but I found myself waiting around for broken promises. Realizing I’m not getting any younger, I asked a sophisticate in our neighborhood for advice.

He suggested that I partner with Amazon.

As a former deejay on K-POT – an L.A. pirate radio station – at first, I was amused. But I checked out Amazon Publications, and invading literary society kept appealing to my non-conformist mindset.

Consequently, it’s appropriate now to announce that Amazon and I are working together. Amazon is a publisher well-connected to the Internet, and its commitment to the environment is apparent, because it creates print-on-demand books.

Amazon is currently making final touches to the heart-rending product of our journey. And Alice approves. After all, she danced on [American] Bandstand.

Keep tuned.

Over the Hump

Why did I leave the “Gold Coast” of South Florida? I had to examine that determination, and chronicle why working for the Miami Herald disaffected me.

The hurdles of writing about those times are behind me now. I’m getting ready to document some amazing experiences in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, and its flagship newspaper, the Bucks County Herald.

The photo above of an unidentified Quaker salutes the mission of Pebble Hill church, the closest thing to heaven on earth. What an interesting assortment of photos I have.

An Electronic Greeting

Amid the Christmas/Chanukah cards you see this season, this one’s being promoted on Facebook: the social medium we love to hate.

Well, considering how much we pay for Internet service, it’s time – since I am one of billions inhabiting this crazy planet – to get on board.

So this is my humble card, with a little news.

Over the Christmas holidays, Kremlin-based Russians who hate my liberal ass have been trying to hack this website over the Christmas holidays, because of a previous post characterizing Vladimir Putin as an elite troublemaker.

That’s too bad. He’s making a nasty bed for all Russians to lie in, and the country has to change from within.

As you might infer from the photo above, there’s only a place-setting for one. Nevertheless, I dine at an Alice McCormick-inspired holiday table, and I thought you’d like to see it.

I have one wish for the approaching New Year, keeping in mind America finally left Afghanistan. Russia should leave Ukraine alone.

That is all. That is enough.

May we have peace worldwide in 2023.

A big shout-out to all the volunteers who spent Christmas supporting the Salvation Army.

On the Trail Again

On the first day of September, my Acer computer crashed. Although my files were backed up externally, I was well on the way to learning a brand-new computer, a brand-new operating system, brand-new software with upgrades, updates, and more importantly, money.

A new Dell computer was supposed to arrive over the Labor Day weekend. At least, that’s what Dell promised. But after a business day came and went, a computer geek gave me the bad news: It won’t arrive for seven weeks.

That’s when Creator (and Alice) stepped in. Next to Alice’s mirrored closet is a working computer with the same operating system. Since her connection with the electronic world still worked, could we find a way to marry our two computers, including my data?

I posed the question to a local (Longview) nerd, whose employer, Hamer Electric, makes IT house calls. Pictured above is Michael Bryan, who worked in my townhouse to cause my words and equipment detailing a life’s journey flow better than before.

After a 33-day departure from Chapter 14 of my book, and after absorbing a quick consultation about the correct functionality of using different backup programs, I’m humming away. I’m on the trail again!

This time, my life is enhanced by Alice’s Rolls-Royce of a computer. And you guessed it; her spirit will live in the words I type. What more could I want?

Accordingly, I continue my book’s journey to honor love.

Fearful of the Internet

Ten minutes before sunset on Christmas Day, I was treated officially to a White Christmas, and the photo taken the next morning depicts a bird’s large footprints outside my townhouse. Lovely, right?

Well, reiterating a conversation at our Christmas gathering two weeks ago, all is no longer peachy. I was warned not to give any of this condominium association’s officers any publicity, even if it’s favorable.

Two of them cite fear of the Internet for choosing to shun attention, but it causes this experienced journalist to wonder why. Or could it be because I am now an East Coast widower in their closed circle?

So much for hometown hospitality.

Since the portrayed happy mood of the pre-Christmas gathering is inaccurate, I am removing that post. But thank you for reacting positively.

I better finish my book. And soon.

How Should I Feel?

Two posts ago, I wrote about an adjacent neighbor who set fire to my condo while utilizing a mini-blowtorch to kill weeds, then went back into his unit to watch TV while mine smoldered. The front of his apartment is pictured above. To this day, I remain astonished why the town of Longview didn’t cite him for criminal negligence.

To put my discovery of the fire in perspective, in late April I was appropriately convalescing from a four-hour hernia operation at Kaiser Permanente’s Sunnyside Hospital, courtesy of cousin Margaret Johnston within her natural-beauty surroundings in Tigard. Before walking into my condo, I strolled around Lake Sacajawea with distinguished Professor John White, recently retired from Pacific University.

I unlocked the condo door and stepped into a dwelling filled with smoke. My fortuitous discovery prevented a smoldering carpet from blossoming into flame, thus saving all my memories, my condominium, and five other units.

After five months and 10 days being confined inside Quality Inn Room #101, my townhouse – at long last – was ready for re-occupancy. The work was performed by ServPro, a national organization that works hand-in-hand with three national insurance companies – Allstate, State Farm and Farmer’s. Most of the delay is taken up by insurers’ paperwork for their bean counters. By the way, I have Allstate, and adjuster Michael Broszczak treated me right.

Hector Luna coordinates fire-restoration work in Longview for ServPro. Hector knows much, and is a loyal employee.

A couple weeks later, most relevant items are unpacked, and I’m trying to figure out the appropriate wall hangings, while the good Professor promises to visit and celebrate Alice’s epicurean tastes so this place doesn’t turn into a museum.

But enough with all that.

For the first time, this post contains the name of my next-door firebug: Ned Rauth.

And here is why his identity can now be known.

On the night of October 26, Rauth was transferred by ambulance with a blood oxygen count of 40, and designated another victim of Covid.

At the hospital, he didn’t make it. Ned died.

How did it happen?

The spirit of my all-powerful late wife, Alice McCormick, could have caused him harm, because the day Rauth had to be transported from his townhouse – exactly adjacent to ours – was October 26, precisely six months from the day he set OUR apartment to blaze.

Creator continues to bless me.

Keeping in mind I am a Quaker, I ask, “How should I feel?”

Happy Halloween.

Printed image from an old tee-shirt worn annually.