I’ve had so many different jobs in my life that I find it easier just to respond ‘I’m somebody’s Mother’ when asked ”What do you do for a living?” I feel as if Motherhood has been the ultimate training ground for dealing with different personalities and authority figures. I was grateful for the experience of working in a hospital because it helped me deal with sickness and not vomit myself when an 8 year old brought up pea soup; I apologize if you are reading this while you are having breakfast, but you get the gist of what I am saying. 

I never realized that I was able to deal with overbearing managers because I had dealt with teenagers. Making the boss look good and letting him think it was his idea is a direct result of dealing with a 14 year old girl.  Just hand them a mirror and they’ll forget what all the fuss was about. Consoling a distraught 6 six year old because his frog died is exactly what happens when a co-worker didn’t get the raise they wanted. Sometimes you just have to let them whine a little. Making a drunk superior understand he can’t drive home from the party is almost as much fun as telling your 17 year old he can’t go out with his pants hanging down to the middle of his rear – its dangerous and not anything people want to see.

The question has arisen from time to time as to where I get some of my ideas for columns. I wonder sometimes myself. Sometimes they will just come from out of the blue as I sit in front of a blank screen. It’s as if I’m waiting for someone to turn on my fingers so the words will flow out – an endearment my beloved uses sometimes when addressing the dogs. (“Look, boys!  Mommas got words coming out of her fingers!”) 

When I am feeling especially inspired, the story seems to write itself.  The starting point might be a title that sticks in my head, or a group of words that seem to belong together.   I remember reading an instruction for a recipe where it called to ‘peel a tomato before blanching.’   I thought to myself  “What?  Life is too short to peel a tomato!”   That has stuck in my head like a song that continues to play over and over in my mind, and now that I’ve used it maybe it will finally go away.  Or maybe it thinks it’s better than that and should be a book title.   I’ll know if it shows up again tomorrow.

I have to type my words in Verdana font, changing it later to Palatino Linotype when presenting the final product to be printed for the paper. The fact that I have a column for a paper to write every week is a delight in itself. It wasn’t too long ago I was not sure if it was right to call myself a bona fide writer.   Enough time has passed where I can comfortably refer to myself as an author; but I realize I must always strive to do better. 

Some friends and I were sitting at the local watering hole the other evening and they tossed out some ‘titles’ they thought would be appropriate as starting points for columns. 

But I realized amongst all their good intentions one fact I can’t change.   I need to pull the titles from my own heart, my own history and my own fingers.  Thankfully, there’s plenty more where this one came from.