The Messy Desk Syndrome: now or later?

Usually, the first weeks of the new year find me shredding old documents, and by the time the month is finished, I am not only onto the BIG stuff but I've secured a 2023 calendar -- ready for monthly notations, appointments, and commitments.

February has always (and probably will forever be) my busiest paperwork month. With the beginning of a new year, there is much to be done.

I must prepare for tax filing. Now that I make a few dollars with book sales, I am required to complete a Schedule C and a Schedule 1 to add to my 1040-SR. And I must prepare the appropriate form for the sales tax I've collected at events and through website sales. This is simply preparation, the gathering of data -- the actual tax filing will take place later...much later.

Then, there are the decisions as to how I'll budget Pisatel Press for 2023. Which magazines/subscriptions are worth keeping? I should renew my membership in those associations that have helped the most with promoting Calico Lane. Should I keep my web page active? When does the domain charge hit my credit card? For each question, a manila file folder holds paperwork that will help in these decisions; however, another time.

February is the month that I review my "contacts"...other writers I've met and want to touch base with during 2023. The wonderful folk who allowed me to present during their writing workshops last year may have a different group this year. I should check with them...not now, but soon.

I've read at least a half dozen books since the holidays...and I need to post reviews. This is a subtle reminder for those of you who read Calico Lane to please post a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or both! It does help us indie authors (authors without agents) gain a little traction in this craft. I also take a look at my evergrowing TBR (to be read) notebook, can I cross any books off the list? I'll do this some other time.

February is also when I research contests (for new authors). The contests I've entered in 2022 (BIBA, IPPY, Writer's Digest, Firebird, and PNWA) either have already declared winners or won't announce winners until later in 2023. So, I'm fairly certain I won't enter any contests this year. But who knows for certain? So it's probably wise to save that file...for another time.

In 2022 I did not run any ads promoting Calico Lane. I relied on FB and a monthly email. Authors need to expand their 'readership' or 'following.' I've accumulated a small stack of papers and articles about running ads on Amazon and other places. Perhaps in 2023 some advertising will be cost-effective...this will require much research--later!

February is also the month when I look for opportunities as a playwright. There are several small theater groups that have shown interest in my work, so I'll touch base with them. I also threw my hat into the ring for a local theater playwriters' event, but haven't heard back yet if I will be accepted. That part of my writing is all up in the air--for now. Come to think of it, I do have a file (someplace) with contact information for small, community theaters across the United States, I need to jump on that...later.

I must sort through summertime events (craft shows, book events, festivals, neighborhood picnics -- where ever authors have opportunities to set a table and promote books. Which events should I reserve for a vendor spot? Thankfully I have author-friends who join me for these events; now, however, is the time to get together with them and post the dates into my summer months! Yes, now!

February is also the month when I must line up doctor appointments so they won't interfere with events and summertime outings. I'll look into that another time.

And, last but not least, I'm on the High School Reunion Committee and I do need to get together with others and determine if we'll have an in-person gathering sometime during 2023. It might be able to wait...till later.

And some ask, "Judy, will you write another book?" Erm...the college-lined papers with ideas are in a file folder somewhere. You guessed it, I check on those noted ideas now and again.

This February will be different from any month in the past. I will turn 70 years old! Maybe I'll celebrate by not doing anything about the stacks of paperwork! You guessed it: I'll decide that later!

My desk on a good day:

The Dreaded NYRs

Aren't you tired of listening to people ramble on about New Year Resolutions (NYRs)? For at least sixty years I’ve been aware that NYRs are a thing people track. I'm definitely tired of hearing that someone resolves to:

· lose twenty pounds (no, you aren’t)

· stop smoking (maybe you will, but more likely you won’t)

· stop drinking (does wine count?)

. stop biting fingernails (until the next stresssor)

· volunteer (perhaps for the first month or two)

· call the parents at least once a week. (Ermm)

· learn to swim (possibly)… scuba dive (doubtful)… to golf (maybe)

· do better with saving money (no, you won’t)

. give more to charity (nice thought, but doubtful)

· write THAT book…..Ahhhhh – Now you’ve got my attention. I’m all in! What can I do to help? Let’s break it down: What kind of book would you write? Which books in that genre have you most enjoyed reading? Do you belong to a local writer’s group? Do you know anyone currently writing in that genre?

If every NYR received the same response as the book writing, would you find yourself following through at least until mid-summer?

NYRs seemingly are well intended, but are they more likely to be expressions of dissatisfaction? By not keeping NYRs, do we reinforce discontent? I think as we age, it becomes more difficult to change habits and routines.

Perhaps we should keep it simple. Maybe there is one resolution we can all accomplish in the New Year that will stretch beyond next December 31st:

Let each of us resolve to be more kind in 2023.

A Magical Winter Memory

When I talk with readers about Calico Lane, the conversation usually leads to the person from my life that most readers would have liked to meet. That person is Auntie Heley. Some readers have said, "I wish I had an Auntie Heley in my life." Others wanted to know more about this woman--a woman who I never truly understood until my adult years.

When I was a child, I lived in a large house with extended family members. Dad's sister, Helen Kiehart, had worked as a waitress at a Catskills resort, but was now home, helping her mother (Baba) with the management of the house and the never-ending chore of meal preparation for my bachelor uncles, who never dined at the same time and whose metabolisms required different foods. I recall my aunt’s concern that every menu item is served hot and perfectly cooked.

The house was usually hectic with uncles coming and going, Baba shuffling in and out with the laundry basket, Dad tinkering in the garage, and Mom busy with my two younger sisters. Time alone with this woman, my Auntie Heley, was rare because the daily tasks took priority and many people demanded her attention.

I was allowed to roam all through the house and I’d often have lunch with Auntie Heley in her kitchen. Early on, she taught me the proper way to set a table, and by showing me how to make a b with my left fingers and a d with those on my right hand, I could figure out—no matter how confusing the table arrangement seemed—which bread plate and drinking glass belonged to me.

The table-setting teaching moment is one of several special memories, but overall, the days of my childhood repeated, like in the movie ‘Groundhog Day.’ I think most will agree, one day was like the other during our young lives.

My family kept the winter holidays low-key. I didn’t get overly excited about Thanksgiving or Christmas. During the days following Thanksgiving, Dad strung lights along the roof line and Mom set electric candles in the windows. Auntie Heley baked cookies. I don’t recall ever going to sit on Santa’s lap or becoming too hyped up about gifts. I have dozens of photographs taken with family over the years proving winter holiday gatherings were similar from year to year.

However, there was one holiday weekend I specifically remember.

Auntie Heley began the Christmas holiday with an excursion on Black Friday—a bus ride to Scranton for a shopping extravaganza to her favorite department store: The Globe. When I was eleven, she chose me to share the experience.

We stepped from the bus and followed the sounds of Christmas carols in the distance. We paused in front of the five-story department store, where colorful mechanical figures swirled in the window displays and a train rumbled through a tunnel and over a bridge. Festive holiday music piped onto the sidewalks. Auntie Heley squinted at the falling snowflakes. She gripped my arm to steady herself on the snowy pavement. Beaming with happiness, she exclaimed, “It’s magical, isn’t it?”

We strolled through all four levels (the fifth level contained the office areas) of the city’s grandest store, my aunt ticking items off her gift list: wallets and socks for Dad and my uncles, Jean Naté dusting powder for Mom and another aunt, and dresses for my sisters. We carefully selected the perfect hat and purse for Baba. I modeled sweaters and jumpers in the Junior Miss Department, never knowing which item would be my gift. I trusted my aunt to know best.

On this shopping day, my aunt purchased personal supplies, because, she stated, ‘it would get her through another year.’ The annual outing to the Globe was the one time she would leave the house, which made me wonder ‘why purchase eyeshadow, lipstick, and mascara if you weren’t going anywhere?’ She bought moisturizers, facial masks, and lotions while questioning the clerk about the newest Estee Lauder and Elizabeth Arden products. “These are the products you will never see in our little town,” she said rubbing samples of pale foundations onto her wrist to match tones. I believed her.

Auntie Heley slipped a jar of Pond’s facial cream into my hands. “For your mother,” she said as if reading my mind.

Our outing ceremoniously ended with lunch at the Charl-Mont, an upscale restaurant located on the mezzanine floor of The Globe. The maître d’ escorted us to a table near the window and slid the chairs out, motioning us to sit. He carefully placed leather-bound menus in our hands and unfolded fabric napkins for our laps.

Auntie Heley suggested the entree. "Prime rib. It’s the best cut of the meat and something we don’t have at home.”

“It’s expensive, Auntie Heley. A hamburger will be fine.” I made the b and the d with my fingers on my lap and then grinned, knowing the table setting would meet my aunt’s approval.

“Now, hush, Judy, dining is an event. After all that shopping, my goodness, we found everything on our list. We deserve a treat. You can have a hamburger any old time.”

I raised my milk glass and said, “Bon appétit.” My favorite aunt smiled and tipped her wine glass toward me.

As I grew into adolescence, Auntie Heley was the person I could talk to without being criticized or judged. She became my confidante. While I didn’t tell her everything, I shared more with her than anyone else. She found time to listen to the teenage angst I kept bottled inside, mostly those worries I wasn’t comfortable sharing with my parents.

After that holiday excursion, I paid attention to Auntie Heley and noticed she never started her day without taking time to make herself presentable. She had a routine she followed every morning. Regardless of what chores were on the schedule for the day, she looked radiant, her face glowing and perfectly made up. Her brown curly hair was brushed and held in place with bobby pins. A pressed blouse and tailored slacks completed her attire.

It is only since becoming an adult that I recall her weary expression and soiled apron as she toiled in her kitchen.

Several decades have passed since my initial shopping trip with Auntie Heley. As the winter holidays near, and as the advertisements for sales and special offers jam our mailboxes, I can’t help but reminisce about the excitement of my first bus ride to Scranton, the crisp air, the snowflakes, the mechanical window displays, the special lunch, and a day when I had Auntie Heley all to myself.

It was the time in my life when I witnessed Auntie Heley as a complex person with simple desires. I began to understand the importance of occasionally treating yourself and always taking the time to look your best.

The simplicity of that day was, indeed, magical!