Celebrity fascination...even in death

I have to admit that I've been fascinated the past week or so, not so much with the deaths of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett, but with public and media reaction to them.

Obviously these are two iconic figures in popular culture, Jackson for his contributions to the music world, and Farrah, well, for her beauty as much as for her acting skills. But the amount of attention devoted to both pretty much astounds me.

Maybe that's because I've never really been any kind of a groupie..be it music, sports, TV or anything else. Don't get me wrong. I truly love baseball. I watch my Florida Marlins whenever I get the chance. I try to make it to at least one spring training game. I love tennis...especially Rafael Nadal. And I am absolutely crazy about a whole host of country music singers.

A few years back I was fascinated when a customer at my store who was visiting from Paris told me her daughter had played with Nadal in a pro-am charity event prior to the French Open. I practically grilled the girl, who was maybe 12. She looked at me curiously and inquired, "Aren't you married?" As if that would have anything to do with me being slightly ga-ga over the talented tennis pro. Still, I don't rush off to get a glimpse of him, even when he's playing right in my own backyard (so to speak) on Key Biscayne.

And though I am a huge fan of Trace Adkins, who has the ultimate bad boy glint in his eyes when he sings, I can't seem to muster up the energy to cross the river to see him when he performs this weekend in Maryland. I'm content to watch the videos on CMT and buy his CDs. Though if he did happen to cross the bridge in my direction, I can't swear that my reaction would be this nonchalant.

Obviously that's just me, because millions of people have poured to Encino, CA, to the Apollo Theater in New York and elsewhere to honor Michael Jackson. People have been glued to their TVs, grabbing up CDs and other memorabilia, all to somehow be a part of the mourning of the legend's passing.

The media has spent countless hours providing the very intimate details of his death, as well as Farrah's. Do we really need to know all this? Do we care that deeply? Or is this some other phenomenon, proof that even the most celebrated are mortal?

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Just click on comments here or send me an email at Sherryl703@gmail.com.

Sherryl

A delicate balancing act

I've written before about the difficulty of a generation trying to care for kids and their own families, right along with aging parents. Lately, though, I've been trying to balance the needs of an elderly aunt with her own desires. Believe me, when dealing with someone who possesses the stubborn Woods genes this isn't easy.

My 96-year-old aunt, who has no kids of her own, hit a rough patch over the winter. From Christmas day until early May she was in and out of hospitals and rehab. Some situations were better than others, but none were to her liking. My cousins and I have always promised we'd do all we could to keep her at home, as long as she cooperated by doing whatever was necessary for her own safety. In theory, she agreed.

Now, however, with reality setting in that she needs a live-in caregiver, she's not half as cooperative as we'd always hoped. I try to time my weekly visits -- she lives two hours away from me -- so I can chat with the visiting nurse or physical therapist to get some idea of what kind of progress she's making. Instead, most of the time I listen to a litany of complaints about how much she's paying for food for two people, instead of what she paid when she was living there alone. She wants to cut back care to a few hours a day...even though she's barely walking and certainly couldn't prepare her own meals. My cousins and I have repeatedly balked. It's created some tension. I suppose one of these days, she could simply fire the help, but we keep praying she won't.

On the one hand, I understand exactly how she feels. It must be incredibly difficult after living that many years independently to suddenly have someone else underfoot. On the other, it's frustrating to have her not see that for now she needs the help. It's been difficult for all of us, maybe more so because we're not dealing with a parent, but an aunt. It's even trickier for my cousins, who've recently dealt with the deaths of both parents after difficult illnesses. Their patience has worn thin.

If any of you out there have dealt with this with a parent or another elderly relative, I'd love to hear how you've dealt with the difficult decisions. Click on comments below or email me directly at Sherryl703@gmail.com.

Sherryl

The queen of clutter unmasked

I just noticed how far behind I am on blogging. Apparently my blog resolutions are no better kept than my new year's resolutions. However, I do have a good excuse...another one. I'm decluttering. Sort of.

As some of you know, I inherited my house in Virginia when my dad died. It had been in the family since I was four. I'm pretty sure nothing had been thrown out in all that time.

After my dad died in 1998, I got started on the accumulation of stuff. Room by room, I made great progress. I've renovated and painted, tossed everything in sight that didn't have a purpose. The problem has been that way too many things might have a purpose...some day.

At any rate, I really was getting ahead of the chaos...until I closed my bookstore. Then every bit of leftover inventory that I hadn't given away or sold moved in with me. Boxes were everywhere. And then, crazy me, I got involved in creating the town's Market Days and kept ordering T-shirts to sell at those events. More and more boxes arrived. You have no idea what my living room looked like. Picture a dry goods store and you'll get a sense of it.

Now I'm gearing up to have one of the "big" birthday parties in July. I've invited friends from all over. Many are coming. Though I sensibly moved the actual event to a restaurant on the river, there's no getting around the fact that some of these people will actually expect to be able to walk through my house without tripping over things. So, I'm in a frenzy to declutter.

Unfortunately, I'm approaching this with very little organization. I pick a spot, grab some stuff and sort and toss. I'm pretty ruthless, in fact. However, I also have to look at every item, think about it, read the old letters, read the old college newspapers. This is not a process that is clipping along.

So, if any of you have tips for reducing clutter in an organized, sensible fashion, please pass it along. Quickly. In the meantime, picture me lost in the great black hole that is my home.

Sherryl

Mental meandering

I just realized how ridiculously long it's been since I posted an entry on my blog. I have excuses, more of them than you need to hear. I'll mention a few.

First, of course, there was the book tour, which I told you a bit about before I hit the road. To cover just a few of the high (or low) points, depending on your point of view...a water main broke in downtown Baltimore and caused enough commotion that I somehow never made it on the air for my first TV interview. That was the first morning.

On the second day, the valet at the hotel brought my car in the pouring rain, then locked the keys inside...with the motor running! I was an hour late leaving the hotel and driving to Annapolis.

On the third day, the media escort got lost getting me to the TV station and I almost missed that interview, too. For a control freak like me, things were not off to a good start. Later that evening I was told that the bookstore hosting my signing had thought it was the next night. Hmmm.

And on day six, the bookstore hosting me hadn't received their order of books. Naturally that was the store where the most folks showed up. And here you all probably thought a book tour was glamorous.

The best part, of course, is having a chance to meet readers and that much was wonderful. If any of you stopped by my various signings, thank you. It means so much to an author to meet people face-to-face and talk books.

In the midst of that commotion, I stayed at the home of my 96-year-old aunt who was in rehab. We'd just learned that she'd be coming home any day and would require full-time care. So, while my cousins organized the care and medical equipment, I used every second of spare time to shop for new sheets and towels for the caregiver's room and stock the refrigerator with groceries. I've since made two additional trips to northern Virginia to check on my aunt and see for myself if she's making progress with her therapy.

In addition, I finished the manuscript for the second of the Sweet Magnolias books for next spring and turned that in. I'm now well into writing book three.

I finally have the furniture on the porch for the summer. This morning I planted the last of my containers with flowers, fertilized my vegetable garden, asked the landscaper to order some more perennials for my flower garden, and my car is loaded up with T-shirts and books for the first Market Day of the season on the town green tomorrow morning. I have to be there at 6:30 a.m. to help with registration.

Are you beginning to see why I haven't posted a blog? Still, no excuses. Other than trips to see my aunt, I should be staying put for the next six weeks or so. I promise to be back here on a more regular basis. In the meantime, if you have topics you'd like to discuss, click on comment below and add your two-cents to this post or send me an email at Sherryl703@gmail.com and I'll post it for you. Summer's here and I'd love to hear what you're planning.

Sherryl

Touring for FLOWERS ON MAIN

I almost feel as if I haven't been out of my car lately. First, there was the drive from Florida to Virginia(in time to sniff my lilacs, in case you were wondering), then the drive to northern Virginia to spend some time with my 96-year-old aunt, and now I'm off on a tour for the Chesapeake Shores books....all within less than two weeks. If any of you reading this happen to live anywhere near my stops, I hope you'll drop by. I'd love to chat with you, assuming I can stay awake.

Today I head for Baltimore, Maryland to set settled in for a round of stock signings at various stores in the area. On Tuesday a.m., I'll be on the air on WBBF-TV,the local Fox station. In the afternoon (April 28, to be precise) I'll be at Greetings and Readings in the Hunt Valley Town Centre from 4 to 6 p.m. You can get more information by going to their website at www.greetingsandreadings.com.

On Wednesday, I'll be signing stock at Barnes & Noble and Borders in Annapolis. That means I won't be there long and won't have a specific time, but I'm trying to get to both stores before noon if you want to stop by and try to catch me.

On Thursday, April 30 there will be more stock signings in northern Virginia and Washington, D.C., plus an interview between noon and 1 p.m. on News Channel 8. That evening I'll be signing at 7:30 p.m. at the Borders at Baileys Crossroads, 5871 Crossroads Center Way...next door to Le Madeline, which has great pastries, by the way.

There will be more stock signings on Friday, so if you live in the D.C. - northern Virginia area, you may be able to find signed copies of FLOWERS ON MAIN or THE INN AT EAGLE POINT at many Borders (Friendship Heights), Barnes and Noble (Clarendon, Seven Corners, Bethesda) and Books-a-Million (Dupont Circle) locations this weekend.

And if you're in the Fredericksburg area, I'll be at the Borders at Central Park from 1-3 p.m. on Saturday, May 2.

Do stop by. I'll be the one with the pen in hand and the glazed expression on my face!

Sherryl

Leaving summer, heading for spring

Even if the calendar hadn't told me it was time for my annual trek north, I would have known it was time to go. First, the weather in Miami has been hitting record highs with nasty humidity, two of my least favorite things. And, second, today I wanted to mow down an entire pack of bicyclists who broke at least two traffic laws before dawn as I was heading out for breakfast.

Let's start with my desire to escape the onset of an early summer. My acceptable range of temperatures begins at about 45 degrees and goes to maybe 80, if the humidity is low enough. Miami has been above that for a while now. And on the flip side, Virginia's high by the time I get there at the end of the week, will be a wonderfully cool 65. You have no idea how happy that makes me. Even more important, from all reports, I will get there before the lilacs bloom, which is always my goal. I can practically smell them now.

Let's move on to the attack of the mad bicyclists. As I sat at a red light this morning with another car in the lane next to me, at least 40 frantic cyclists went racing by. . .to my left, to my right, and to the right of the other car. They didn't stop for the light. They were riding five, six, maybe even seven abreast. And when the light changed to green, the other car and I were surrounded by these insane individuals who apparently have absolutely no concept of the law, to say nothing of what could happen if we simply started driving.

This is not my first encounter with these folks. Just about every morning I watch as they speed through red lights, oblivious to traffic that might be approaching from the side streets. Some have lights on their bikes. Others don't. Some wear helmets. Others don't. Almost all of them have a really offensive air of entitlement when it comes to their ownership of the road. Of course, so do I, so maybe we're even on that score.

Why haven't they been arrested, you might ask. Heaven knows, I've asked it enough. Of course, I know why they weren't this morning. Two of the officers on duty were at 7-11 looking at magazines. Literally. I could have stopped, suggested maybe they should be patrolling the streets instead, but why bother? This wasn't an isolated incident. They've just chosen to ignore it. Or maybe they're terrified of these packs, which have actually been known to retailiate against those they don't think yield to them quickly enough. Oh, the tales I hear whenever this topic comes up around here!

At any rate, when I start ranting about the guys -- and some girls -- on their bikes, when other drivers really, really start to tick me off, it's definitely a sign of spring and time for me to head back to my small town in Virginia. Up there, partly in thanks to the heady scent of those lilacs, it will take me weeks at least before other stuff starts to make me nuts.

You'll hear more from me once I'm there. If you have time to check in, let me know what the best part of spring is for you. The flowers? Gardening again? Cutting the grass, which believe it or not, I can hardly wait to do? The warmer temperatures? Whatever it is, enjoy.

Sherryl

Searching for euphoria

And no, I'm not talking about some city in the south. Euphoria is that state of well-being that comes during pleasant experiences. Or, they tell me, after a really good workout.

So, for the past couple of months I've been going to the gym. Don't faint or fall down laughing. It's the truth. I've been there diligently three times a week, two of those times with a trainer who doesn't let me get away with anything.

We use weight machines. We use free weights. We do exercises on a giant ball that I'm still terrified is going to squirt out from under me and land me on the floor with no way to get up without a crane. And we walk on the treadmill. Sometimes we do that for a five-minute warm-up. Sometimes we do it in intervals, between sessions with the weights. Whatever she can dream up to torture me.

Now I'm a big believer in getting things I hate over with in a big, fat hurry. That is not the way this works. We do things I hate for a while, then we stop and do other things I hate. Then just when I'm lulled into the serene sense that everything I hate is behind me, we do it all again. And again. Yes, that's three sets of everything, no matter how much I moan and groan. As I said, she's a very good trainer, who doesn't listen to me whine.

The gym in my condo is often empty, but on occasion there are other folks in there. A woman watched me working out one day and said, "That's looking too easy. You probably need heavier weights." I almost slugged her with my five-pound dumbbell, because the next thing I knew the trainer had handed me an eight-pound weight.

And there was the ever-helpful man who happily moved aside so I could use some kind of arm weight contraption, despite my silent pleas conveyed with desperate body language that he stay right where he was. "No pain, no gain," he said cheerily.

Then one day I think I found my soulmate, a man who looked utterly miserable as he sweated away on one machine after another. We commiserated. He told me his kids had promised him that there would come a time when all this expercise would make him feel euphoric. "All I want to feel is the couch under me," he said. Amen to that.

However, despite my grumbling, despite the fact that weight is clinging to me as if I had been sitting on the couch, I march down there every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday and spend a solid hour doing what I'm told...or, in the case of Sunday, what I think I can get away with since nobody's supervising. I've given up hoping for euphoria. I'll settle for survival.

If you've managed to find euphoria working out or running, please tell us about it. Those of us who haven't need the inspiration.

Sherryl Woods