Pamella Bowen's Blog

Adorable, Inspiring Wrinklies

When my husband Don and I take our daily walk, we hold hands. We sometimes walk over to the Starbucks on Temecula Parkway for coffee. We sometimes walk around Ronald Reagan Park. We sometimes walk around Harveston Lake. We pass oncoming walkers and call out “Good morning,” getting a smile or greeting in return from most of them.

The other day, a woman about our age asked us how long we have been married. We answered, thirty-seven years. She said, “And you still hold hands?” When we answered in the affirmative, she said, “That’s inspiring.”

The week before, a young woman in her twenties passed us on the bridge across Temecula Creek, jogging. She turned her head to say over her shoulder, “You two are adorable.”

Surprised that we were causing such a sensation, we took note of the fact that we see very few couples of any age walking hand in hand these days. We wonder why that is. Indeed, wrinklies like us might be so sick of their partners after 30+ years together that they might not want to touch or claim each other. But why do we see so few young lovers holding hands? Is holding hands passe’?

Please let us know if you have any theories about this phenomenon. Meanwhile, we will keep inspiring others with our adorable hand-holding.

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Reader? Not so Much

In fifth grade when all my friends were becoming avid readers of Nancy Drew, I was not a fan. I could read well enough to sit with the highest reading group in the class when we read aloud to the teacher, but it just didn’t grab me. Later, in high school and college, I read the classics and started to appreciate literature, but reading for fun eluded me until I was an adult.

Now, however, in my late sixties, I am losing my love of reading, and it’s not because of visual problems. My trifocals help me see just fine. Nor is it the time element. I am retired and could spend my whole day reading, after my daily walk and minimal chores. It is something else.

For one thing, fiction bores me. Maybe it’s because I have tried to write my own fiction and have taken the fiction-writer training. I recognize other writers struggling with the techniques of fiction, trying to keep the action going, trying to make characters likable or villainous, trying to “show not tell.” Maybe it’s because I am reading books other than the classics: modern women’s novels, bestsellers, pulp.

Nonfiction used to engage me better, but now I often give up halfway through the book. It’s putting me to sleep with jargon, erudite arguments, or just tedious writing. I used to plow through the most professorly prose and at least get the gist. Not any more. Maybe my brain is starting to give up the struggle, or maybe I am unwilling to work that hard in my old age. The remaining years are too short to spend them reading hard books.

So, friends, if you know a book that you can promise won’t bore me or over-fly my head, please send me the title. I am willing to let go of my identity as a reader if I must, but maybe there is hope for me somewhere.

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Senior Painter Saves Big

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Since I closed my publishing business and wrote my last (for now) book, I have taken up acrylic painting. Art supplies are expensive, especially if you want to paint on cradled panels. A cradled panel is a piece of plywood or hardboard with a frame on the back of it. You can hang it directly on the wall when it’s finished, no other framing needed. It has some advantages over canvas, such as sturdiness and the smooth painting surface. I like them.

The difficulty is the price, so I decided to pick up used panels at thrift stores, refinish them, and save lots of money. Yesterday was senior day at Goodwill and Savers, so I went out foraging for panels. Now these panels have been all the rage at Home Goods and Hobby Lobby for years, bearing slogans and admonitions like “Live Laugh Love” and “Follow Your Joy” and stuff like that. Now that consumers are pretty sick of being told how to live by Home Goods, such signs are falling out of fashion. Thus, they are showing up at thrift shops, and I can buy them for cheap, especially on Senior Day.

Thrift stores also have a lot of Home Goods canvases with printed pictures on them. The canvas is usually plastic or plastic-covered cloth, and I haven’t had a lot of luck gessoing over that canvas. Instead, I have taken to removing the canvas and the staples (the hardest task), and gluing a piece of 1/8 inch utility board to the frame of the canvas, making my own cradled panel. Home Depot was kind enough to cut the boards to the dimensions I needed. Mind you, my homemade panels aren’t museum quality, but I am only a beginner, not a pro. I plan to hang my pictures in my own house or give them to friends.

Anyway, the point of this blog is to determine whether re-purposing thrift store panels is cost effective. Here is a comparison of what I spent at Goodwill, Assistance League, and Savers with what I would have spent had I ordered the same (or similar) panels from Jerry’s Artarama, an online art supply source. The smallest panel measured 10 x 12 inches, and the largest 24 x 30. I bought a total of 13 panels and canvas prints, and I spent $43.96 before tax, using my senior discount and buying mostly items with the colored tag that was discounted that day. I bought utility board at Home Depot for about $11 for a 4 x 8 foot sheet, so some of the frames will need a couple of dollars added for the board I will glue on. The gesso I will prime them with also costs. Not to mention my labor, which I throw in for free since I am retired and the refinishing is part of my hobby, too. Throw in the utility board and the gesso, let’s round it up to $60.

Using Jerry’s sale prices before tax and shipping, I would have paid $312 for 13 panels. Compare the big panel, especially: I spent maybe $7 for the 24 x 30. Jerry wants $45 for one. I have always liked the idea of thrifting to save the environment and the budget, but now I am sold on the idea of making my own art surfaces with re-purposed stuff.

Pam Answers McLaren 9

Chapter 10, question 7

I found this quote from Alan Watts striking: “Belief clings, but faith lets go.”

Faith lets go of being right, of having answers, of knowing the passwords, of being in the club, trusting that Love will work it out in the end. I have been working for years on letting go, and I love that definition of Faith.

Thank you, blog readers, for following this series for several weeks. Now we can all let go of it.

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Pam Answers McLaren 8

Chapter 5 question 2

2. As an unchurched unbeliever, I was taught my Simplicity ideas by the culture. God and Santa Claus both watched over me to catch me doing something wrong. If I did wrong, I would be unrewarded: no presents/ no heaven. My folks taught me right and wrong in a secular way. I feared God because my mom sometimes said “Now I lay me down to sleep” with me. That rhyme hopes that God will come and take my soul (whatever that is). Scary, evil. My complacent atheism got a shaking in the delivery room when Amy was born. Later, we started going to Episcopal church to baptize our daughters. That’s when Complexity set in. I knew very little of the Bible, so we hired a babysitter and went every Wednesday night for Bible class. I also took a Kerygma course on the book of Revelation. Any and every formation class offered I took. I even got confirmed. Prayer still eluded me, but I said the creed and learned a lot of the hymns. Once in a while our highly educated priest would drop a small bomb, like when he said “You know ‘veiled in flesh the godhead see’ is heresy.” I thought, then why do we sing it? Why? Tradition. Tradition makes for complexity—lots of rules to learn, lots of customs that no one understands, lots of resistance to change. But little comments like that hinted that there was a conspiracy of silence in the church. The educated clergy knew the truth, but they weren’t giving it away to the plebeians. It would just confuse us and might lead us to perplexity—not a good thing.

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Pam Answers McLaren 7

Chapter 9, question 2

Life is messy: As I said, my life doesn’t fit the 4 stages neatly since I was a doubter at the start, not a believer. In Stage 2, I still was a doubter, but I was giving faith a chance for the sake of my kids and because of all the other people in the world who seemed to know something I didn’t. I went through the motions and enjoyed the feeling of being “in the club.” Now I understood words and references I had not known before; I was let in on the secrets of the church, and a lot of poetry and other lit opened up to me. Not until I started CP did I have many supernatural experiences, making me think that God might be real. When I heard from this God (in journals, for ex.) she always wanted me to stop worrying and trying so hard. All those songs, and books and signs were not necessary to her. She couldn’t be bought with that stuff. She already cared and approved. She wanted me to be me, nobody else. But the church talked out of a different mouth. I needed to obey, to serve, to give, and to evangelize. God never said those things. Only the church did, using their magic marketing manual, the Bible. So here I am, a lifelong doubter, back in my old groove, angry that the church duped me for so long, but still in love with beauty and nature, pretty sure God loves me, if she exists. It’s messy and imperfect.

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New Book Launch

On May 1, 2021, The Blindness of Odile will be available on Amazon.com in paperback and Kindle (e-book). To encourage you to order, the Kindle version is on half price sale at $1.99, and you receive it instantly. Of course, the paperback ($14.99) can be signed by the author (me) when I see you.

The Blindness of Odile tells the story of a self-centered doubter who yearns to make a name for herself in the England of 1970. Cambridge University is the setting, after a culture-shock interlude in London where Odile realizes she is out of her comfort zone and can’t control everything.

A near-death experience changes her when she finds herself in a former monastery, tended by a modern nun and a cranky friar. Maybe there really is a God, and that God is yanking her chain.

Beginning in 1970, I made the first of ten visits to England, and each one contributes some detail to this story. From taking the wrong train, to visiting Ely Cathedral, to punting on the Cam, to drinking Pimm’s punch, my long love affair with Britain comes to the fore, as seen by Odile Travers, who is just a little too autobiographical for comfort in her egotism, control, fear, and spiritual blindness. I hope you enjoy it.

May 1, Kindle sale $1.99

Pam Answers McLaren 6

Chapter 8, question 1

[Write a letter to your former self from your current perspective]

Dear Pam,

Relax. You are good the way you are. You don’t need to aspire, strive, try to be perfect, outshine others, or gain recognition to be happy. In fact, all that stuff will be the source of your misery at least until you are 68 years old, maybe beyond. You certainly don’t need to do all those things to please God or buy your way into heaven. It won’t work anyway. Stop looking to the future and enjoy the moment you are in—nature, beauty, friends, pleasure. You rob the pleasure of the moment by thinking about “what if.” Let the “what ifs” take care of themselves. You have no control of them anyway. Telling you all this will probably not change you. Just know that all your missteps and mistakes will not be the end of the world. It will work out, so relax and enjoy.

Love,

You

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Pam Answers McLaren 5

Chapter 7, question 6

The six foundational moral values: I never really heard of these so clearly listed. I see them as ranged from low to high. The lowest are not really moral at all: what is purity? Virginity? Unmixed blood? Bathed in soap and water? Purity seems to me to be a label to give privilege to some and keep it from others. I think that is immoral, not moral. Loyalty is another manipulative word. If I want to control you, I will accuse you of disloyalty, and then you will come back into the fold. Loyalty is used to keep one group from mixing with another. It makes my group feel superior to yours. How is that moral? Authority is a man-made idea, bestowed on the powerful for no good reason. You are king, or educated, or rich, or senior so you have authority. I am common, ignorant, poor, or young so I have none. I must do what you say. How is that moral? Liberty is something a few have, but others don’t. If I have enough money, rank, or authority, I am free to make my own choices and live life my way. If you are poor, low, or amateur, you cannot choose. You must live under the control of bosses, parents, leaders, and rules that the free man can ignore. At this point, the list moves on to the higher values of justice and compassion, and we enter the realm of morality. Justice says that the other moral values mentioned earlier must be applied equally. They should not be used to separate groups or make one privileged over another. And why would we want to grant this justice to others? Because of compassion. We put ourselves in the shoes of the unfree, the weak, and the poor, and we feel their pain. We don’t want them to suffer more than we do, so we seek justice for them. Jesus espoused these two values, justice and compassion (we think), and they are the highest values of the list because they are based on Love, and Love is God.

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Pam Answers McLaren 4

Chapter 2, question 4

The main apologetic I read was Mere Christianity by CS Lewis. It made me cry and affected me a lot when I first read it. Later, I read a critique saying that apologetics are to make you believe. Faith needs no apology. So, I am conflicted about it. When Lewis says, “Jesus is either the only son of God, or he is a lunatic” I balk. That is too dualistic, too absolute. Can’t he be a gifted teacher and a holy prophet without being either God or a lunatic? I am suspicious of most of the things written in the Bible about him. Who says Jesus claimed to be God, or the Son of God? Wasn’t it all the manipulative hype of the followers who wanted to set their group above all the others popular at the time? The words in red in the Bible are what the writers said that Jesus said. Hearsay, spin, or outright lies—marketing.

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