Where Was I . . . Keeping It Real!

By Janice Lane Palko

I lie. Let me clarify that. I try not to in my daily life or when I write articles for this magazine, but in my spare time, as you may know, I like to write novels. Fiction is not true. It may seem that way. In fact, novels may seem “realer” than real life sometimes because they usually have an ending that ties up all the loose ends of a story and makes sense of all that preceded it. Life often doesn’t make sense or doesn’t end with all things tied up in a nice bow.

However, these days, it’s becoming harder to separate fact from fiction, especially when it comes to reality. In our recent issue of Pittsburgh Fifty-Five Plus magazine, I had the pleasure of interviewing two women who are reading their way through some of the best novels ever written. One of the things they noticed is how novels written in the centuries before now went into explicit detail when describing places and objects. That was because in those days, they didn’t have access to Instagram, Google Images, YouTube or the Internet, so a writer had to paint those pictures in their readers’ minds by using lots of words.

One of our advertisers is using Virtual Reality to help their Alzheimer’s and dementia patients, and I think that is fantastic and very exciting. But in other ways, it seems we’re trending to other extremes and allowing virtual reality to substitute for real life. We hear news stories of virtual sex robots or the first Virtual Reality Roller Coaster Ride in LEGOLAND Malaysia, which sends riders wearing Virtual Reality glasses into a world completely composed of LEGO bricks. When I asked an un-named twentysomething family member if she wanted to go to a concert with me, she replied, “Why would I pay money to see them in concert when I can watch them on YouTube?”

Why? Because Virtual Reality or a video is not the next best thing to being there. Actually, being there or experiencing something personally is the best thing. Case in point. In my Christmas novel, A Shepherd’s Song, I have my two main characters attend a performance of Handel’s Messiah at Heinz Hall. I have never seen Messiah, so I made the whole scene up, including the part where my characters kiss during the Hallelujah Chorus. This year, however, I thought it would be a nice way to celebrate the holidays by actually taking in this year’s performance at Heinz Hall. And I’m glad I did because it illustrated how much more interesting, provocative, spontaneous and beautiful real life can be.

When it came time for the Hallelujah Chorus, the audience traditionally rises. As we stood, and the voices of the chorus filled Heinz Hall, the elderly black man two seats over on the aisle raised his hands in praise to God and sang along in such a lovely baritone, that it brought a lump to the throat. Midway through the piece in the row before me, a young man covered in tattoos and piercings, suddenly removed his baseball cap out of respect. Their unscripted, unexpected real actions surpassed any virtual reality anyone could have dreamed up and will be something I will never forget.
Virtual reality has its place, and even though real life can sometime be messy, harsh, confusing, depressing or sad, it’s those real moments of grace and beauty that break through into our lives that make it all worthwhile.

This originally appeared in the January 2019 edition of Northern Connection magazine.

Where Was I . . . The Code of the Universe

If I get up at night to visit the bathroom, I pass three windows on my way. My house sits high on a hill, and when I glance out those windows, I can see across a small valley to the next street over where the light from a gas lamp pierces the darkness and sends out rays of light, shining like a star. For some reason, that small light always makes me feel better.

After the shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue, I’ve been thinking a lot about light. The tragedy happened at the darkest time of the year, making the grief and sorrow that has descended upon those living here seem that much bleaker. Dwelling in darkness is not comfortable, and I believe a longing for light has been encoded into our souls because ever since we’ve discovered fire and the sun, humanity has been attracted to light. 

Most every religion, ancient or otherwise, celebrates or incorporates light into its practices. The ancient Druids had several light festivals. Hindus, Jains and Sikhs celebrate the festival of light known as Diwali.  Jews celebrate Hanukkah, which commemorates the rededication of the Second Temple in Jerusalem, when a miracle happened. Even though they only had enough oil to keep the Menorah lit for one day, the lamp burned for eight days. Christians light candles, Christmas trees and decorate their homes with light at Christmastime.

The sacred books are filled with references to light. In fact, the third verse of the Old Testament tells us that one of the first things God created was light saying, “Let there be light.” In John’s Gospel in the New Testament, he tells us in the Nativity narrative that, “What has come into being in him was life, life that was the light of men; and light shines in darkness, and darkness could not overpower it."

A few nights after the shooting at Tree of Life it occurred to me why that small light I see in the middle of the night gives me hope and comfort. It’s because no matter how dark it may get, light cannot be vanquished by the darkness.  But light can defeat darkness. In the midst of a bright summer day, have you ever seen a patch of darkness? No. However, you can see light shining in the darkness, but you will never see a patch of darkness penetrating the light. Not only are we created to embrace the light, it is foreordained that light overcomes the darkness. Therefore, no matter how dark it may feel this December whether from the loss of daylight, genuine sorrow or sadness, know that in the end the light always triumphs—it’s written into the code of the universe. 

Happy Hanukkah and Merry Christmas!

This originally appeared in the December 2018 issue of  Northern Connection magazine.

https://issuu.com/northernconnectionmag/docs/dec18_nc_issuu

I've Been a Bad Girl

Hello!  Is there anybody out there?  You still there?

As I sit down to write this post, the old Hall & Oates song keeps playing in my head:

You're out of touch

I'm out of time!

I can't believe it's been a year since I've posted here. I've been out of touch with you because I was out of time--the time to blog.  Professionally and personally a lot went on during the past year, some of which was bad and required my time.  We'll leave that in the past where it belongs and focus on the good things that have happened since I was last in touch and the good things on the horizon (hint, hint -- a NEW BOOK!!!).

I continue to write for the website PopularPittsburgh.com, creating a lot of interesting content.  One of the things I love about writing for the site is that I'm always learning something new.  I recently did a piece on Andrew Carnegie--what a fascinating, complex man.  Like most people he was a mixture of good and bad.  I think the important thing when looking at anybody's character is what is the ratio of good to bad.  I hope when my character is weighed, the good tips the scale like an elephant on one side of a seesaw and my bad like a kitten on the other.  

Also, I've done some more articles for St. Anthony Messenger; one that was particularly timely focused on the Franciscans in the Holy Land who are charged with tending the holy sites there and with helping the remnant of Christians still living in Jerusalem. 

I've been to several book clubs and appeared at speaking engagements as well, and I was also a guest on the Cookspeak podcast hosted by Tom Totin.  This was my first live broadcast, and I was worried when he asked me to be on, wondering how we would fill the air time.  If you listen to the podcast, you will know that we could have gone on for hours, and that is to Tom's credit.  He's a professional, gifted host and could give Jimmy Fallon and the like a run for their money.

But the best news of all is that I've finished my fourth novel!  It is called Most Highly Favored Daughter and is another "woman in jeopardy" type of romantic suspense. Instead of publishing it immediately, I have entered it for the Tuscany Prize, a competition for Catholic literature.  To whet your appetite, I'm posting the first chapter here and on my website. 

Writing is a bit like giving birth.  When I'm finished writing a novel, I'm all tapped out and don't think I could go through that again.  But already, the pain is fading and the urge to create is growing.  I'm getting the itch to write a short story about Janetta, Anne's friend and roommate from my first novel St. Anne's Day.  Many of you have told me that you wanted to read more about her.  Right now I see her in the opening scene and I see her at the conclusion, which will be very dramatic and beautiful.  Now the task is to just get her from the beginning to that end.  

Anyway, like bad breath in the morning, I'm back and click here to read the first chapter of Most Highly Favored Daughter.  I hope you enjoy it! 

The Party's Over

Hi Reader,

Well, I just finished sweeping up and clearing all those red Solo cups that were littering the place.  It's been great fun being a part of the Beach Book Blast, and I hope you had a great time as well.

Even more importantly, I hope you enjoy St. Anne's Day.  If you haven't picked up your copy yet, check out the links to the right.  Also, thanks to all (and there were way more than I expected) who have purchased the book.  If you like it, please post a review, and let me know that you did because I'd like to mail you out a St. Anne's Day magnet in appreciation.

Also, be sure to check out this blog to keep up-to-date on the latest fun and publishing news.

Now on to the goodies.

Denise Z. won the St. Anne's Day T-shirt.  Try not to be too envious of her good fortune.

I'm still endeavoring to learn the name of the lucky person who won the $25 Red Lobster certificate on the main BBB site.

Susan Catherine Mahoney won the highly coveted "Pittsburghese" mug from the FB party.  She will soon be speaking like a native "Picksburgher" before yinz can say Stillers.

Have a happy Sunday and be sure to keep in touch.  I love hearing from you.

Janice

A Quick Take on Indie-Publishing

Unlike some others, I've come a little late to the indie-publishing revolution.  I got a Kindle about 18 months ago and primarily read traditionally published books on it.   It took me a while to wean myself away from paper.  It's only in the last six months that I've branched out and have started to read some indie-published novels due to so many people offering free books.  And I've noticed a few things that I'd like to share with you. 

Creativity & Individuality

When I was shopping around my soon to-be-published novel, St. Anne's Day, (shooting for a late July availability date) to agents, I intuitively felt it wouldn't find a home with neither an agent nor a publisher because I had never read another traditionally published book similar to what I had written.  My novel is set in Pittsburgh, features a nurse and has some Catholic/Christian overtones, making it not an exact fit in any genre.  I read scads of writing manuals while drafting it, and they all said not to do certain things.  They said not to set your story in certain places, feature certain types of characters, or embrace certain issues.  

Well, I've just finished a novel set in Pittsburgh featuring a nurse, not one of the "approved cities and occupations" and liked it.  My sister just read a book featuring a rock star as the protagonist, and coincidentally, she found out a good friend had read it too.  They both liked it.  The writing experts said neither agents nor publishers would touch a book with "celebrity types" of characters.  I also read a "Catholic" fiction novel that advocated natural family planning.  I doubt a publisher would touch that sort of theme.  Most likely none of these books would have made it past the "gatekeepers" who rule the traditional publishing world.  

Storming the Gates

Well, I say who needs gatekeepers!   It is refreshing to read non-homogenous novels.  I like being my own gatekeeper.  If the story is good, to me, that's all that matters.  Sure, I've come across the occasional typo, but I've seen them in traditionally pubbed books too.  Sure, I downloaded one poorly written book, which I abandoned after a chapter, but because e-books are more reasonably priced, I have no guilt putting a clunker down.  However, when I pay more for a hardback and it stinks, I feel trapped into reading it to get my money's worth.  I have more freedom to choose what I like with indie-published books. 

 Indie-publishing enhances the symbiotic relationship between writer and reader, eliminating the middle man--and that's a good thing. 

A Mother's Love

My article on a wonderful mother I knew appeared in the May issue of Northern Connection magazine. In case you missed it there, here it is. Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there.

 A Mother’s Love 

Most everyone thinks that his or her mom is wonderful, which is how it should be. In this month’s issue, we feature some exceptional mothers like Lacie Spagnolo. As I was writing about them, I began to think about some of the remarkable moms I’ve met during my lifetime. As I was going over the roll call of mothers, there was one who stood out among the crowd. That mom was Olive Argentah, and she was a neighbor who lived the street behind me in West View, next door to my best girlfriend, Marilyn. Olive was her real name, but the neighborhood kids knew her as Aunt Tootie.

 I don’t remember when I first met her, but I do remember when I first met her son.

 I used to take my 45s up to Marilyn’s, where we would sing and dance to records in her bedroom like The Rolling Stones’, “Honky Tony Women” and The Archies’ “Sugar Sugar.” One day during the summer while the windows were open, we were debating our next musical selection when I heard a strange sound outside.

“What’s that noise?” I asked.

 “Oh, that’s just Kenny,” Marilyn said nonchalantly.

 “Who’s Kenny?"

 “Aunt Tootie’s boy. He has something wrong with him.”

 I knew Aunt Tootie’s daughter. She was gorgeous and worked downtown and wore beautiful suits and had black hair like That Girl. She had once given Marilyn a whole rainbow of mini lipstick samples from Avon that I would have traded all my issues of Tiger Beat magazine to own.

 For the next several years, Kenny was sort of a Boo Radley in my life—a mystery person. Then one day when I was probably about 10 or 11 when we were out playing in Marilyn’s front yard, Aunt Tootie asked us if we wanted to come in and visit with Kenny. Marilyn had been in a number of times to see him, and she said sure so I tagged along.

Aunt Tootie took us into her small home and guided us to a first floor bedroom. There lying in a special bed dressed in kid’s pajamas was a man/child. Kenny was about the size of a 12-year-old boy, but he had the face of a young man. It was one of those moments where you stop breathing; I’d never seen someone like Kenny before.

Aunt Tootie smiled, rubbed his hair and said so lovingly, her kindness pierced my shock, “Here’s my handsome boy. Look, Kenny, Marilyn and Janice have come to visit.” He just glanced our way and made a noise. “Sit with him a minute, while I get his lunch.” She returned and spoon-fed him his meal.

 As I’ve grown older, I’ve met other mother’s with children like Kenny, but Aunt Tootie stands out in my mind because of her love and pride for her son and for bearing what some would have found so burdensome with great joy, even when it seemed that life was out to break her.

 Her husband, coincidentally was named Ollie, and they were madly in love. She once told Marilyn and me that the day this “handsome lumberjack walked into my high school, I knew I was going to marry him.” As long as they had each other, it seemed they could handle whatever came there way, including a profoundly handicapped child. They played games together, played their organ and bought a backyard pool so they could take stay-cations. Cruelly, Ollie, died suddenly while in his forties.

But I never once heard Aunt Tootie complain. She was funny, generous and loved a good time. She kept right on loving and caring for Kenny and seeing beauty where others may not have.

Thirty years ago this coming August, I invited her to my wedding. While most guests are concerned with receiving thank you notes for the wedding gifts they had given, not Aunt Tootie. Upon my return from my honeymoon, there was a thank you card waiting for me from her. In it she thanked me for inviting her to my wedding, said I looked beautiful, praised my parents, the food and the music and hoped that I would be as happy in marriage as she had been.

Nearly 20 years ago, my brother and his wife bought Marilyn’s old house and some years after that Aunt Tootie passed away, but not before loving and taking care of Kenny until he reached middle age and then passed away.

Her house was sold and the new owners told my sister-in-law that when they pulled up the old carpeting, they found notes under it that read: “This carpet was put in with love by Ollie and Tootie.”

Aunt Tootie need not have worried about leaving notes behind as a mark that she had lived. Her example of selfless, motherly love made a greater impression than any note or monument could ever have.

A Daddy of a Plan Redux

Great news! The people I interviewed for an article last year called to say that the editors at Woman's World magazine saw my article online and are interested on doing another article on them. They are thrilled and so am I! This is one of my favorite articles that I've written. It's a beautiful story.  

In case you missed it in Northern Connection magazine last June, here it is again.  Keep the tissues handy!

A Daddy of a Plan 

Like most new fathers, Bruce Russell beams with pride when he talks about his daughter, Julie. What’s different is that Russell, of Ross Twp., is 61 and it took nearly 40 years to meet his child.

In 1971, when he was heading into his senior year at Slippery Rock University, his former girlfriend, who had broken up with him the month before, called to tell him she was pregnant with his child. After much consideration, they decided it would be best to give the baby up for adoption. The child was a girl and Bruce never got to see her. “That was something I really regretted,” he said.

Bruce resumed his life and eventually married his wife Karen when they were both in their forties. “I’ve known about the baby since our third date,” Karen said. “When we started dating, we both sensed that this relationship was going to be lasting, and Bruce confided in me about her.” Besides Karen the only others who knew about the baby were Bruce’s parents. “My brother was in the service at that time, and we decided that he didn’t need anything else to worry about,” Bruce said.

Then last August everything changed. “I picked up the phone and it was the Pittsburgh Children’s Home” Karen said. “I assumed it was one of Bruce’s clients. When I asked if I could help, the woman said they could only speak to Bruce. I immediately called him at work.”

When Karen told him the Pittsburgh Children’s Home was looking for him, he knew exactly why. “I’d never stopped thinking about or loving my baby, and I had always had this gut feeling that if she is like me at all, she’ll contact me,” Bruce said. After Bruce called them back and verified that he was the Bruce Russell they were looking for, he remembers telling the woman, “You don’t know what good news this is.”

His daughter, Julie Morse, a professional bassoonist and music teacher who is married with two children and lives in Phoenix, then contacted him by e-mail. In the initial message she told Bruce about her life, and the similarities between hers and Bruce’s are uncanny. Julie related that she had been placed with loving parents who lived in the Pittsburgh area until she was five. Her family then moved to Baltimore. She told Bruce that she was athletic and loved music and had to decide between the two when she entered Ithaca College. “What was amazing is that I always loved athletics and music too. I’m a phys ed major. I grew up near Albany and moved to Pittsburgh. She was born in Pittsburgh and attended college in Ithaca and lived near Albany for a while and even chose to work in the Catskills just as I had,” Bruce said. “She wrote that she often thought of becoming a marine biologist, and I don’t know how many times I’ve told Karen that if I had my life to do over, I think I’d be a marine biologist.”

Another similarity is their sense of humor. In one of the paragraphs Julie told Bruce that she often fantasized that her biological father had been a member of the rock band Rush. “I burst out laughing, and realized that like me she often resorts to humor,” Bruce said.

They e-mailed each other every day for a month and then exchanged photos. And the similarities between the photos they swapped are enough to induce chills. Although the relationship was developing smoothly, both moved cautiously. They were both conscious of not slighting Julie’s adoptive parents whom Bruce feels he owes a debt of gratitude. “When I heard about all her accomplishments and the things her parents had done for her, I knew we’d made the right decision. I could have never given her the wonderful life that they did.” Bruce has written her parents a letter expressing his appreciation.

Then Bruce and Karen began to tell family and friends about their new-found daughter and her family. When asked how difficult that was, Bruce said: “I was so happy, I told anyone who had a pulse. I swear I was beaming so much Karen was suffering scorch marks.” His only regret is that his parents will never know their granddaughter. His father passed away a few years ago and his mother has Alzheimer’s disease. “After the adoption, my parents never mentioned it ever again. I think if they had, it would have made it real, and they would have missed her too much.”

This past January Bruce and Karen flew to Phoenix to meet Julie; her husband, Saul; son Ian, 11; and daughter Evelyn, 8. They were met at the airport. “The first time I saw her, I looked into her eyes, and it was like I saw myself looking back at me,” Bruce said.

“I had planned to video the meeting,” Karen said with a laugh, “but I started crying and the video is a disaster. All you see is feet and hear everyone sniffling and crying.”

The Russells spent four days with Julie and her family doing things that fathers and grandparents do. “I hate to make it sound like it was all rainbows and roses, but it was,” said Karen. Bruce was mindful of how this was affecting Karen too. “I’m now sharing him with someone else,” Karen said, “but he’s kept me in the loop on everything, showing me every e-mail. Bruce has changed. There’s a side of him I’ve never seen before. He seems much more at peace.”

There was a moment during their visit to Phoenix that stands out with Bruce. “Julie and I stood in front of a mirror and looked at ourselves together, and I just felt complete. My heart got bigger.” In addition to e-mails, they talk every Sunday and the calls last for over an hour.

This month Julie and her family are coming to Baltimore to visit with her parents, and the Russells are traveling there too. They hope that in the future Julie will come to Pittsburgh because family, friends and neighbors would love to meet her.

In one of her e-mails to Bruce, Julie referred to herself as a mistake. Bruce forbade her to ever say that again. “I told her that she may not have been in my plans, but you certainly were in God’s.”