Marsha Jacobson's Blog, page 3

Active Imagination

When a young man in my family decided to hike the Pacific Crest Trail—a 2600-mile hike starting near the Mexico border and ending near the Canadian border—I was all for it. I loved that he’d earmarked the summer between college and grad school for this adventure and had spent months preparing for it, demonstrating courage, imagination, and determination I couldn’t have summoned at his age. I loved hearing his plans, bought him some of the gear he needed, and on the day he actually set out, I was thrilled. I was also terrified. The PCT has desert, bear country, an ice cap. Ankles twist. Gear malfunctions. Storms roll in when they’re not supposed to. It was an exhilarating challenge for him, this hike, and a decidedly not exhilarating challenge for me, keeping my imagination in check until he got back. And guess what—we both met our challenges!

Highly Recommend

The jewel box of a museum, the Museum of the City of New York, is celebrating its centennial with the multi-gallery exhibit, This Is New York: 100 Years of the City in Art and Pop Culture. There’s so much to love in this exhibit. “Wah Mee Hand Laundry” is one of my favorite pieces. According to the signage, the artist, William Low, grew up in an apartment above his parents’ hand laundry. The apartment was used only for sleeping and he, like many children of immigrant entrepreneurs, spent most of his time in the family’s business

Join This Online Discussion of The Wrong Calamity

I’m thrilled to announce that my memoir, The Wrong Calamity, has been chosen by online bookclub Great Indie Reads as their April selection. To join us for the discussion on Sunday, May 5, click the link below to sign up for the Great Indie Reads bookclub.

https://bookclubs.com/join-a-book-club

Um… Okay

A little puzzled by this sign in a restaurant bathroom. Are you?

On the Cutting Room Floor – The Opener

Many writers say the first few lines of a book are the hardest to write. They sure were for me. Here’s my early attempt at the opening of my memoir, The Wrong Calamity. “She thought he was dazzled by her big, expressive eyes, not knowing it was the adoration on her face that pulled him in. He thought she was fascinated by his wisdom, not knowing she was concentrating on looking awed and wasn’t listening. They were kids, just nineteen, when they met on a blind date and straightaway eloped. She quit school to become a wife. He finished his studies and joined the navy. To his chagrin, the war ended before he’d made it past Texas, and his only war story was something dubious, about underwear.”

These are the opening lines of published book: “I was born in the whoosh of baby boomers at Lafayette, Indiana’s Saint Elizabeth’s hospital, where the wards were named with Bible references and the maternity ward was labeled Immaculate Conception. I was a preemie, weighing less than five pounds, and when a nurse introduced me to my father, he said, to her horror, “Last night I ate a chicken bigger than that.” Which do you prefer?

I Heart Libraries

I grew up loving libraries, and when the New York Public Library system acquired The Wrong Calamity, my memoir, I loved them even more. And now this new service to the community has me loving them even more than that

I Scream You Scream

I was taking a walk when I saw this line and had to find out what they all knew that I didn’t. Opening day of Van Leeuwen on the Upper West Side!

I Scream, You Scream

I was taking a walk when I saw this line and had to find out what they all knew that I didn’t. Opening day of Van Leeuwen on the Upper West Side!

On the Cutting Room Floor – Grandma Minnie and the Bones

Many readers of my memoir, The Wrong Calamity, tell me they love my Grandma Minnie. Here’s more to love—an episode that didn’t make it into the book: We were just back from five years in Japan, technically international travelers but actually babes in the woods who’d returned to the US just in time to face a recession. My little one was four months old and costing me a lot of sleep; my big girl, born in Japan, was two and trying to adjust to her new world; my husband was ostensibly looking for work and challenging to live with. I was drained. Grandma Minnie visited during this very hard time and saved the day. She gave me perspective, helped magically with the children, and she cooked. Cooked and cooked and cooked. The electric stove was new to her, and she learned by experience how to use it. The experience came in the form of a potful of bones. After she’d simmered those bones for a long time, to make a broth, she turned off the pot and joined me in the living room. Later, we heard burbling noises in the kitchen. The bones were boiling. She’d turned it to high instead of off. Well, who hasn’t done that? She turned it off again. Again, we later discovered it simmering. She turned it “off” and it boiled again. I’ll just say that for three full hours, repeat, repeat, repeat. But I’ll also say that for those hours, we laughed our heads off. As soon as our laughter started to dwindle, one of us would shout out, “Boiling the Bones!” and we’d start laughing again. During that time, I had my little one on and off my breast and my big one in and out of my lap, all of us more relaxed than we’d been in months. Laughter, the best medicine.

Still There

I thought maybe I’d imagined this and had to go back and check. There it was, brighter than before.