Bonnie King Author

The Road to Writing

Distance Resolutions 2019

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I awoke this morning to the word “distance” playing games in my foggy brain. As usual, Riley was curled beside me making it difficult to move. I love this cat who gives me excuses to stay in a warm bed. The distance between us has decreased in the last year and a half. Seems Riley’s trying to fill the void left by Scott—as if that were possible, but it is comforting when he curls up next to me.

As I lay listening to the soft sound of rain through my slightly open window, another distance concept popped into my head, a 180 degree turn from melancholy. I want to increase the distance between my waist and waistband in 2019!

That did it! What other resolutions could I conjure concerning distance for 2019?

Distances I resolve to increase:

  • Miles on the treadmill
  • The distance between what I should have done and what I can do by putting the “oughts” behind me
  • Concerns about the future set aside in favor of enjoying the moment

Distances I resolve to decrease:

  • The distance between judgement and understanding by setting aside initial impressions and seeking to understand
  • The distance between seeking purpose, finding it and then acting upon it
  • The distance between me and friends by making more of an effort to connect personally

Distances I hope will remain the same:

  • The distance between today and good memories of the past. May they not fade away.

And your resolutions for 2019?

Treats

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On occasion, I treat myself to a nice dinner out. (This doesn’t include my kid’s meals from Wendy’s drive-thru. My grandchildren have the toy-proof). Yes, I go by myself and that’s okay; I love watching people and it’s nice to think that instead of a box meal from my freezer, I’m getting something fresh—from a restaurant freezer.

I’ve treated myself a lot in 2018. The result—wonderful memories. Some “treats” were intentional, as I promised myself in an earlier blog post: my three trips to North Dakota this spring and summer to connect with family, restarting my part-time photography business, connecting with classmates at my 55th class reunion in Pasco, WA; a trip to the Big Island to spend time with my niece Nannette and nephew Kevin and his family, and Thanksgiving with my daughter Courtney and her family in Alberton, MT. My decision to have a mini-face lift in February was intentional, although there are other names one could think of, I’m sure.

I also promised myself I would be less reactionary this year only to find out… that’s just not me. I’m an adventurer and a risk-taker. The fact that I made an offer to buy a 112-year-old bar in Almont, North Dakota with visions of creating a seasonal business is a clue to my, oft times, impulsive nature. After my 90 days of temporary insanity, I realized that while possible, it would not have been in the best interest of family. That doesn’t mean I won’t treat myself to North Dakota trips in the future, including visits to look wistfully at the old bar.

I don’t know if the decision this fall to sell my Puyallup home of 32 years was intentional or reactionary or something in between. I was ready to move on, something I could not have done in 2017 right after Scott passed away. But this year I was so ready that once I let go of the Almont dream, I decided to buy a new-build home in Bonney Lake, WA in a planned community called Tehaleh. Talk about treating myself! I’ve never had a new home before and it’s been great fun choosing finishes and imagining the creative touches I can bring to the interior and the yard. The new home won’t be ready for move-in till late January. In the meantime, because of the sale of my house and the kindness of a friend, my niece Jessica and I are staying in Edgewood while the owners snow-bird in Palm Springs. Let’s hope the new build is ready on time. They return the first of February.

In addition to the move, I am curious about what awaits in 2019. It could include a return to Australia, a place I lived and worked for 18 months almost 50 years ago. How blessed am I to even consider such treat!

Sunflower Inn

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I am more than excited to visit Almont, North Dakota (population 135) and stay at the Sunflower Inn on the 30th and 31st of May, 2018.

The Sunflower Inn, built in 1906, became the Merchants’ Hotel in the 1920’s when it was operated by my grandmother, Tomine Teodine (Dena) Ramsland Bateman. Yes, she was Norwegian. Grandpa, James Robert Bateman, ran the pool hall and livery stable across the street. The hotel plays a prominent role in the novel I wrote about my father’s early years.

In The Road To LaReta, it was in the hotel where my father, Webster Warren Bateman, got into trouble with his mother to the extent that he and his brother, Ray, were told to leave. Leave they did. They joined the circus to make money and see the world—or at least South Dakota and Minnesota. It didn’t turn out quite as they had hoped; they couldn’t wait to get back to Almont and the Merchants Hotel.

According to the current owner, Keith Pitman, the hotel has changed very little from when it was first built. Electricity and plumbing have been added to both floors and all the bedrooms have ceiling fans. There is a fully equipped kitchen and laundry. However, the six bedrooms upstairs share one bath. The “Owner’s Suite” on the first floor has its own bath.

Keith said, “You may want to see the place before you decide to stay there. It’s ‘hunter-friendly’ at the moment. We hope to make it a three-season bed and breakfast someday.” Keith is very hospitable and indicated he would serve breakfast and lunch at the hotel, but that I’ll be eating dinner at the Muddy Creek Saloon, the only place in Almont to eat. And I may be the only person staying at the hotel when I’m there.

All of this intrigues me. I asked to stay in one of the front upstairs bedrooms. This was where my dad and his brother shared a room. Perhaps I’ll feel the ghosts of ages past. Two of his sisters shared a room and a third brother spent time with his grandparents because grandma also had boarders. The school professor was one of those who paid rent. That was a chapter unto itself. He was the original “Nutty Professor.”

I’ll begin my 2,392-mile round-trip solo adventure toward the end of May and visit friends and relatives along the way. I’ve had a couple people volunteer to go with me, but this is one trip I want to do alone. In addition to Almont, I’m planning to spend a couple days in Dunn Center (population 173). This is where my father married his first wife, Dorothy. She was born near there and is buried in the Dunn Center Cemetery. I sent my book to the local historical society and museum and while visiting their website, found they have a writers’ group. I contacted them and have been invited to visit the group on the 4th of June. I’m looking forward to it. If it hadn’t been for my writers’ group, which has disbanded, I could not have finished my novel.

I am planning to take photos and to do some blogging along the way. Retracing some of my father’s footsteps and particularly being able to stay in my grandmother’s hotel, has me brimming with happiness and anticipation. Almont, ND, here I come!

 

 

Facelift

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I’ve lived with my face for over 70 years, almost 73 to be exact. Not the exact same face, if you consider the chicken pox marks as a child, acne as a teen ager and again as a young adult, sun burns from using baby oil to “bake” next to a lagoon along with all the other cancer-fearless, immortal young people from high schools around the Tri-Cities. During a deviated septum surgery, my nose shattered, and the plastic surgeon had to rebuild it. In the process, he decided to shorten the tip of my nose. I guess that was helpful considering the nose and ears continue to grow all your life.

With time, gravity and the aging process caused greater changes. The essence remained, of course, evidenced by my own baby picture: deep set eyes, cheek bones high, pointy chin, and there they are, my grandfather’s ears. (Grandpa, you didn’t do me any favors!)

A notable difference in the last twenty years has been the need for me to raise my eyebrows to see. I didn’t give it much thought unless it was one of those days I stood in front of the mirror analyzing every line, wrinkle and droop. On those days, I would also scrutinize the sagging jawline and pull up the sides of my cheeks to see what it would look like without my Bloodhound jowls.

I had thought about having “work” done, but never seriously. That was until I visited an ophthalmologist for an eye exam last fall. Previously, I had gone to an optometrist for eye exams and glasses. The ophthalmologist asked if I’d ever considered a lid lift. I replied, “No.” I had certainly wished for a magic potion to get rid of the sagging jowls but hadn’t really thought about my eyes. One of my daughters said she thought I always looked surprised or excited about something with my eyebrows raised. Maybe there’s something to be said for being in a constant state of amazement. Living with Scott Cameron Haverly for nearly 23 years may have contributed to the elevated brow and my state of amazement.

The more I thought about the doctor’s comments, the more my interest grew. I was surprised when I mentioned the possibility to others, how many people had already had a lid lift. I decided to go for it. During my first visit with Dr. Woodman in Tacoma last November, he told me that “at my age,” (how many times have I heard that!) Medicare would pay for both a lid lift and a brow lift, deeming them medically necessary. He felt I needed both, but promised I wouldn’t look even more amazed, than I already did.

While I was there, I mentioned the jowls and asked if that was something that could be done with the lid and brow lift or should be done later. He said it would be less expensive to do it all at the same time. The jowls were on me, however. Standing in front of the mirror for twenty years, pulling my cheeks back didn’t qualify as medically necessary. Medicare is not in the jowl lifting business.

I have been known to be impulsive. But, as I’ve grown older, I consider myself cautiously impulsive, if that’s even possible. I mulled over the idea of having a lid, brow and chin lift all at one time for an entire 30 seconds and said, “Let’s do it!” The doctor told me this was considered a mini-face lift because I wouldn’t need a chin implant. That’s for sure! I have plenty of chin and have passed it on to two daughters and almost all five grandchildren. Note: only one has my ears—so far.

I told my daughter, Courtney, about the decision right away because she’s a nurse and I wanted her to be with me for a few days around surgery time. She also knows once I’ve made up my mind about something, changing course is not usually an option.

I hesitated to tell Kendall, who is my researcher, science teacher, analytical wizard and I was concerned that she would either worry way too much or try to talk me out of it. (She says I don’t worry about anything. Not quite true, but close). Finally, in January when she and I were shopping at IKEA, I had the brilliant idea to bribe her into not saying a word about my decision. While in line, I said, “I have something to tell you, but you must promise not to try to talk me out of it. If you can agree to that, I’ll buy your stuff today.” She looked at me quizzically and asked if it was a matter of life and death. I laughed and said, “No,” so Kendall agreed to the plan.

Once I told her, the response was, “Mom, this is your life. You’ve wanted to do something about your jowls for years. If you want to do that, just do it!” So much for thinking I knew how my daughter would react. I could have saved myself some money… toward my face liftl! But a deal is a deal and I bought her stuff anyway.

The surgery on Thursday, February 22nd went well. However, Courtney was shocked at how horrible I looked coming out of the five-hour procedure and confided that to my friend, Janet. Meanwhile, as Courtney was  loading me into the car to go home, Janet was assuring me how great I looked! The next day, my neighbor Janine came over, took one look at me and said, “You paid for that?” I laughed. What else do you do when you’ve decided to go ahead with something, not knowing the exact outcome.

Courtney sent photos to my doctor over that weekend. His response was, “She looks better than average.” Courtney also shared the photo with her husband, Ron, whose response was, “She paid to look better than average!” It all depends on your definition of “average,” Ron. And I haven’t asked the doc what that is.

It’s now three weeks and a few days since the surgery. I took Oxycodone the first few days along with antibiotics and medication to reduce swelling. I stopped the pain meds the Sunday after. I really didn’t have pain because the area around my ears was and still is numb and the meds upset my stomach.

In the last ten days, my eyes have been tearing a lot, making my vision blurry, but the doc indicated that’s not unusual. Because everything is tightened, it takes a while for the muscles to relax and for my eyes to be able to close completely. I have drops for my dry eyes and they are getting better. However, my cat Tobias, stole the eye drop bottle which went missing for a couple days. I found it with Jessica’s help and I’m now back on the regimen.

I have red areas on my face because I also opted for a laser skin treatment on my forehead, under my eyes and around my mouth to reduce wrinkles. The redness may last two to three months, but I’m heading to the “Med Spa” at my doctor’s office on Tuesday to be matched for makeup to camouflage what looks like a major sun burn. (Shades of my teenage years). Whenever I go out, I must wear a 44 spf sunblock. Sunglasses and a big hat are ready for when I get back to yard work. Maybe I’ll look like Audrey Hepburn, but I don’t remember any scenes in which she did yard work.

This is the longest period I can remember (over three weeks) that I’ve done so little. I’ve been sleeping on the couch in my TV room, so I can keep my head elevated to keep the swelling down. My ears feel very strange because of incisions around them. They are like rubber appendages stuck onto the sides of my head. Given that I’m a side-sleeper, I’m not yet ready to try lying on one of them. Who knows, they might squeak! It’s just a weird feeling and the nerves may not rewire for about six months. Oh, the things you learn after the fact!

The time has allowed me to listen to books on Audible, straighten every picture in the house, clean closets and today, I even repotted a plant on the front porch. I have ventured out and had lunch with Chris on Friday. She saw me looking even worse a couple weeks ago and said she’s still recovering from that. That’s what friends are for, right? Telling it like it is.

Would I do this again, knowing what I know now? Good question. Probably. Once I make up my mind, it’s difficult for me to turn back. I had the opportunity and decided to take it. Will I like the results? I hope so, but the true results won’t be known for another month or so. My brother, Jim, stayed with me last night since his wife, Cindy, is in the hospital in Seattle for tests. He told me I look different and when asked how so, he responded, “You look thinner.” He meant my face. It’s true. With the jowls gone, I’ve gone from having a rectangle to a triangle face.

Kendall on the other hand, since she didn’t try to talk me out of the surgery, has let it be known that my healing process is like a birth control pill: definitely a preventative measure for her ever having a facelift. I totally understand. I guess I’m just one of those people who needs to keep life’s pot stirred.

The next step is for me to visit Kendall and see what my grandchildren think. It should be interesting with questions galore. I’m not sure how I’ll respond to the question of “Why?” For now, it’s: “Because I could and while I’ve lived with one face for almost 73 years, I don’t identify myself by chronology. I feel younger than my years, so why not look it, if possible. The essence of who I am hasn’t changed even though the visual effects may have. Life is an adventure and I intend to make the most of it.”

But, when you see me, if you think I should ask for my Groupon money back, let me know.

Siblings

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My half-brother, Raymond Frances (Corky) Whitney passed away April 3rd, 2017. He was 86 years old. Nine months ago, June 14, 2016, my half-sister, LaReta Lois (Lore) Bateman Curtis died of cancer. She was 80.

Corky was known for being an honest man, hardworking and caring. Although we didn’t see much of each other, I’ll always remember him having a smile. He chuckled a lot too. He had worked in the trucking industry most of his life, but in retirement he learned about computers and was an avid ham radio operator. On one of the trips to Washington when we had a chance to visit, it was because he was here to pick up a HUGE radio antenna. He’d hauled a flatbed trailer all the way from Great Falls to pick it up. But then again, maybe that’s what ham radio operators do when they find a deal they can’t pass up.

I saw Corky last summer when he was living in Spokane. He’d moved with his wife, Berte, to be nearer to his two sons. It was a short visit and I couldn’t help but think he didn’t look very healthy. Berte has dementia and she was receiving specialized care, but by October Corky decided to move back to Great Falls into the home they hadn’t yet sold, so he could take care of her himself. Against the wishes of his two sons, Marc and Dale, and a daughter, Dallys, he moved anyway. Stubbornness runs in the family. With his passing, Berte will soon move to the East Coast to live with her daughter.

Losing two siblings in less than a year was a jolt. I had been very close to Lore and spent a great deal of time with her during her last few months. Before that we talked or visited weekly, since we were only 25 miles apart. Losing her was difficult. I miss her every day. Even though Corky and I hadn’t been as close, knowing he’s also gone marks the end of an era. I told my younger brother James (Jim) William Bateman, “Now there are just the two of us.”

Jim and I have not been close over the years either. He’s 12 years younger than I am and we’ve never lived nearby. But due to his wife’s medical complications, the two of them have travelled from the Tri-Cities to Seattle frequently in the past six months. Jim stays with us when Cindy’s in the hospital and recently, they were both able to stay overnight. I’ve learned how much Jim and I have in common and how much we’re alike. What I haven’t already observed, I’ve learned from Cindy. Jim is the tall, slim, silent guy; his wife provides all the details. It’s been a blessing.

So while I’ve lost two siblings, I’ve gained a closer relationship with the one I have left. I’m so fortunate to have had siblings and to still have Jim in my life. While medical issues are a challenge, in my case with all three siblings, it’s those challenges which brought us closer together.

Foolish Choices

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Choices made about men in my young adult years remind me of a book written in the mid-80s, Smart Women/Foolish Choices by Drs. Cowen and Kinder. Yes, I finally read it after making a lot of mistakes. Those unwise choices still haunt me and make it difficult to write my memoir, From Australia With Love. I find myself judging who I was because of those choices. It’s difficult to let go and write the story—just the way it was, foolish choices and all.

After an encounter the other day, I was left wondering, “Would an arranged marriage have been a better way to find a mate?” Since I wasn’t born in India as Roona was (not her real name), I’ll never know, but her outlook on life was interesting. Roona is a beautiful thirty-something, who was Scott’s nurse for the day. While waiting for my husband to receive his antibiotic injection, I had the opportunity to ask “twenty questions.” (My daughters will attest to my curiosity and how I often embarrassed them by quizzing teenage friends).

Roona was born and raised in India in an upper middle class family, attended college and received her nursing degree. In her early twenties, her parents felt it was time for her to marry. One day at work, she received a call from her mother. “Are you coming home right after work?” her mother asked. She replied that she was. Her mother then asked if she had any blemishes and to make sure her hair was neat. Roona laughed at the memory. She said she’d told her mother if she was meeting a prospective husband, he would have to see her just the way she was. (I mentally lauded her sense of self-worth, something I lacked at her age).

They met in her home for all of ten minutes, including a few minutes of privacy. Her husband to be asked all the questions, particularly about her nursing career. She was too shy to ask any questions herself, but was very impressed by his good looks. They were soon married in a Hindu ceremony attended by 1200 guests!

Sponsored by relatives in the U.S., they moved to California where Roona passed her nursing tests. Eventually, they moved to Washington and now have three children. I asked Roona how she felt about an arranged marriage. She replied, “A lot of people find their soul mate and then get divorced!” Her infectious laughter filled the room. “I don’t know anyone who has had an arranged marriage that has ever gotten a divorce.” She read the surprised look on my face and went on, “There are challenges, but my husband and I have learned a lot about each other.” She paused to attend to Scott and then continued, “You have to decide what to get upset about. I believe a person is just as happy as they decide to be.” (Shades of Abraham Lincoln who said, “Folks are usually about as happy as they make their minds up to be.”).

The choices made in my younger years were often disastrous, but what Roona said about the bigger picture, I’ve found to be very true. You have to decide together what matters and then make a choice to be happy. And that’s not foolish.

Draw A Line

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I finished reading a book created by my niece, Nicolette Harrington titled, Draw A Line: An Art Therapy Sketchbook. The book is intended for use by those going through cancer treatment. Nicolette’s poetic prose is a joy to read, filled with thought-provoking wisdom from her own experience with breast cancer. In the workbook, Nicolette encourages self-expression and teaches the tools to use in this unique therapeutic process. She is an art teacher in a public school, has her own Wing Shadow Studios in LaConner and displays her paintings in Northwest Washington galleries. She’s also teaching workshops in her studio once a month through May using the workbook. Classes are limited to six participants. If you’re interested, contact her at nicolette@wingshadowstudios.com.

The workbook impressed me as one that could be used by anyone who is grieving loss or struggling with life challenges. It is spiral bound and the pages are a beautiful, textured, cream-color begging for a pen, pencil or other art tool.

When I turned one of the first pages, it said, “Write your name in this sketchbook.” The next page read, “Write favorite quotes on this page.” My immediate reaction was to think; I wouldn’t want to mess it up! If I filled in this space and others, then someone would know how imperfect I am.

In the first few pages, Nicolette’s book managed to get to the heart of an emotional barrier with which I struggle. Attempting to write a memoir about my young adult years is frustrating. Instead of letting go and writing from where I was at that time in my life, I find myself judging. As a predominantly left-brained, analytical, I not only judge the technical aspect of my writing, but the person I was. How could I have made those decisions? Why didn’t I speak up? How could I have been so naïve and unaware? And on it goes.

While I am not a cancer survivor and will never equate my struggle with what Nicolette, her mother and many others have had to face, I so admire what Nicolette has done to help others by creating Draw A Line. Now, it’s time for me to distinguish between the past and present and draw a line.

Details in Writing Historical Fiction

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I breathed a sigh of relief. It was finally done, not perfect, but done. Amazon published The Road to LaReta in September 2016. Recently, while cleaning my office, I looked through the research papers I’d accumulated in the last 18 months. I was amused and a bit amazed at the rabbit holes I’d gone down to find details to make my historical fiction novel credible.

For example, I spent hours finding a source for an accurate account of the weather during a five-day period in March 1939. I used www.Weathersource.com.

Along with Weathersource, I used MapQuest to check elevations along the highways Webb travelled. It helped to determine when he would have to gear down and how fast he could go. The fact that one of the women in my writers’ group, Phebe Tademy, used to be a truck driver on those same roads, kept me attuned to details. I also used Google Earth to get an idea of topography.

I researched the national highway system to find highway numbers in the 1930’s and whether they were even paved! And, of course, I had to determine mileage between towns to gage time from one place to another. Webb had to make the 900-mile journey in two days from Ogallala, Nebraska to Dunn Center, North Dakota with a stopover in Billings, Montana. Maps became my best friend along with calendars for the 1920’s and 30’s.

Google Earth came in to play again when I wanted to see what Dunn Center looks like today. That led to the discovery of the Dunn Center Museum and Historical Society nestled in the northwest corner of town. One of the museum’s docents gave me information about Dorothy’s parents’ land claim, her aunt’s murder, and Dorothy’s burial site—all because I spotted the museum from a satellite.

I spent time at the Lemay Family Collection Foundation in Spanaway, Washington, photographing old cars and asking for details. Other information I hadn’t anticipated needing, but did, included: Official Rules of Pool; articles on the dust storms of the 30’s; information about truck and train circuses in the 1920’s; frontier slang, lingo, phrases and songs; rheumatic fever symptoms, causes and treatments; burial locations; prices in the 20’s and 30’s; and an overall view of what was happening in 1939 provided by www.Flickback.com.

Thanks to the Internet, my research into the details was made relatively easy. While some may not appreciate the minutiae, they did allow me to journey with my father, Webb Bateman, during his wild and crazy youth. They also enabled me to better understand the young man whose choices weren’t always the best.