Linda L. Zern's Blog, page 3

In Defense of the Echo Chamber

Bah humbug! 

Growing up in the fifties and early sixties, on the Space Coast of Florida, was an exercise in Americana. All our fathers worked at Cape Canaveral, sometimes named and re-named after that dead president, Kennedy. Everyone came out of their houses to watch the moon rockets streak across the sky. And we all hated the Russians like poison.

When Sputnik sailed over our houses, the adults would come out into their yards and shake their fists at the blinking, floating satellite watching us from space—mostly they were shaking inside, worried. 

No one worried that we weren’t getting the other guy’s perspective or giving the Ruskies a fair shake. Screw the Russians; this was a race and we were going to win.

Because it was hard. That’s what President Kennedy said. We were going to the moon because it was hard and America rose to the challenge. Damn the Russians.

Our whole world was an echo chamber. My mother talked to Mrs. Christenson over the chain link fence between our row houses. They believed: in God, in their country, in public school, in being neighbors. Over the back fence, my mom talked to the Spooners, who were Catholic and had seven kids. They believed: in nice yards, sales at Piggly Wiggly, and church on Sundays.

To the left of us, lived the Dornbushes. We didn’t talk to them. They were thieves. Mrs. Dornbush would load up her mob of kids in the family VW bus, drive around town to construction sites and steal the newly planted landscaping. We weren’t allowed over there. Their garden was legendary. 

But honestly, our world hummed along quite nicely as an echo chamber until Vietnam, LSD, and the hideous failures of President Kennedy’s assassination and the shock of Kent State.

And now, that we’ve crawled out of the echo chamber to listen to . . . well not to put too fine a point on it . . . kooky talk. Sure. Sure. Boys are girls are boys are earthworms. God is dead and the Church of Satan is suing Texas over their religious ritual of abortions. All cultures are the same, even the ones who believe in digging up dead bodies and dancing with them. Drugs and alcohol are the quickest way to becoming the life of any party or a bleary eyed buffoon.

Bah humbug. 

It takes half a lifetime to figure out whether or not being an earthworm pans out in the long run. I don’t have that kind of time to . . . mull over . . . the value of earthworm culture. Thanks but I’ll stick to what I know works . . . works . . . works. 

And of course! I talk to myself. Sometimes I need expert advice.

Linda (True Believer) Zern

Ants vs. Grasshoppers

 My long-time friend and fellow doomsday conspirator called me during the swine flu dustup and said, “I found a deal on N95 masks. Are you in?”

“I’m in.”

And I was. I stocked up on N95 masks against a when-not-if pandemic eventuality. A few years later, I found myself pulling them off my shelf to donate to our local hospital during the long awaited pandemic of the moment. It was a situation that left me scratching my head.

Who am I to be giving protective gear to medical professionals? Nobody, that’s who.

Had everyone at doctor school been absent the day they discussed the repeating, one-hundred year cycle of plagues? Apparently.

Without expertise or training, was I better prepared than the smarty pants people at doctor school? Yep.

If they need a phone number for where they can buy N95 masks cheap they should let me know.

Preppers are more like ants than grasshoppers. They work and store and get ready. They plant while the sun shines. They are mocked and laughed at, until someone needs that case of toilet paper they’ve got tucked up under the guest bedroom nightstand.

For the ants who are prepared, it’s hard not to fell smug. Don’t. Grasshoppers going to grasshopper.

For the ants who take twenty bucks a month and turn it into a stockpile against a time of fear and want, keep your chin up and keep prepping against the coming of winter. 

The grasshoppers are going to need you.

Linda (Ants Be Ready) Zern   

 

  

   

The Covid Question - Do You Know Anyone Who Has Had Covid?

 Yes. 
Me.
It was one of those strange, unscientific surveys on Facebook. It was a yes or no question. And I found that annoying. I wanted to fill in the blanks. I wanted to talk about my unsung, unheralded life and death experience. I wanted someone, anyone, to listen to my COVID story. 
The problem is that I had COVID before it was on anyone’s hysteria radar. 
My husband works for a huge, international corporation with the huge international headquarters located in the once lovely city of San Francisco. In January of 2020, my hardworking husband traveled on a Jet plane to the once lovely city of San Francisco. At the huge international headquarters of his company he talked, shook hands, chitted and chatted, and hung out in the huge international cafeteria. Note: International means people from all corners of the world travel back and forth, to and fro, in and out from all corners of China . . . er . . . um . . . I mean the world, including the North Pole. 
He came home—coughing—his guts out. I blamed the Jet plane. “Yuck, dirty, dirty airplanes. Go to the doctor.” He did. They gave him the standard protocol and said, “You have a virus. Go home.”
He did.
And promptly infected me.
Sick for three weeks, from January into February, I kept saying to anyone who would listen, “I’m dying. This is the weirdest cold.”
Ha. Ha. Ha. They all laughed. YaYa’s dying. They laughed some more.
“I feel like I’m drowning,” I cried out. No one answered.
Snot bubbled out of me like lava. When the coughing started, I coughed until I was light-headed and near fainting. “This is the weirdest cold I’ve ever had,” I cried to the empty air, which I could not get enough of into my body.
Three weeks and I was cured by Cuban chicken soup from a good friend. 
When I heard a woman on television describing her, finally acknowledged, pandemic symptoms, saying, “I felt like I was drowning.” 
“Yes!” I cried to a woman on television who could not hear me. “Yes. I had that too.”
No one answered me.
And then everyone went hysterical, but it was too late. I was better. Sigh.
And then we got COVID again, a year later in January, and if I get this stupid thing next January, vaccinated or not, I’m tapping out.
Linda (Breathless in Saint Cloud) Zern

SOONER OR LATER IT HAS TO BECOME A BOOK!

 

FREE IN KINDLE UNLIMITED: 150 funny (everyone says so), pithy (the word counts speak for themselves), well written (I've won prizes) essays in one hefty, meaty, plump box set for your viewing convenience. Enjoy. amazon.com/author/lindazern

The Moon and Me

 

MOTHER NATURE IS QUEEN

 Mother Nature is a girl with an agenda. She’s not a dancing hippo in a tutu. That’s a Disney cartoon with no actual connection or counterpart in the natural world where Mother Nature is queen. Let me repeat. Hippo’s do not wear clothes. They do not dance ballet. They do not twirl in tutu’s.

Hippo’s are murderers. They kill more people in Africa than any other land mammal. 

I made the mistake of saying that hippo’s are the most dangerous animals in the world, and I was instantly challenged by the Google police. 

Me: Hippo’s are the most . . .

Google Police: GOOGLE IT!

Me: I meant land mammal in Africa.

Google Police: NOT WHAT YOU SAID. Ah ha! The most dangerous animal in the world? THE MOSQUITO!!! Google busted . . .

Someone (who was not me): Mosquitoes aren’t animals.

Google Police: GOOGLE IT.

Actually, mosquitoes are animals. Pigeons are animals. Hermit crabs are animals. Goats are animals. And animals do what animals do because Mother Nature is their queen, even if everyone in society decides to shave their dog’s butt and dress them in top hat and tails. 

Our male goat named Tramp is six feet tall when he stands on his hind legs. Mother Nature, his queen, dictates that he lives for two things: food and females. He happily obeys. When new girl goats show up in our next-door neighbor’s pastures, Tramp becomes a rank smelling, lip curling sex fiend. It’s in his DNA. He lives to make baby Tramps. 

When I say he’s rank . . . well . . . let’s “google” it:

Billy goats -- or bucks, as goat fanciers correctly call them -- are intact male goats. ... Bucks stink with a strong musky odor, which comes from both their scent glands, located near their horns, and their urine, which they spray on their face, beards, front legs and chest.

Let’s read this again slowly: Urine. Which. They. Spray. On. Their. Faces. Beards. Legs. And. Chest.

Boy goats smell like old cheese cooked in the sun under a pile of moldy grass clippings. It’s a “perfume” girl goats cannot resist. Boy goats stink. They don’t have a choice. They stink because Mother Nature, their queen, says they must if they’re going to get sex and make baby Tramps.

Animals live to eat and make more animals. It’s true.

Back to mosquitoes, the most dangerous animal in the world, which live to eat and make more of themselves. The ones that bite are female. True story. They need the protein in blood for their eggs to develop. 

Google it.

Humans are animals. That’s the word on the secular street. We live to eat and make more of ourselves and watch the Olympics and knit afghans and wear perfume and start charities and ride bicycles and drink smoothies and invent Google and vacuum the kid’s room and write novels and blog . . . about mosquitoes. 

True story.

Linda (Skeeter) Zern 

SAY IT WITH YOUR LIFE

In Little League, there’s a saying the coaches would use when the players started trash talking each other. Like one kid would say, “You suck, you neanderthal,” and then another kid would come back with, “Your mother is a pony-faced dog soldier.” 

Then the coaches would peal the yapping kids apart and say, “Say it with your glove. Get back on that field.”

It was a great way to handle confrontation and trash talking. “Say it with you glove” meant to shut your mouth and play the game so well that any argument would be rendered moot. Be the better player. Win the game with your talent and skill. Play the game with your glove and not your mouth. Win or lose, do your best and leave it all on the field.

During one play-off game, Adam, our youngest son’s team proceeded to crush their opponent. On a close play, Adam slid into home and was called out. Because he was sure he was safe he had started to argue the call with the adult umpire before he had even gotten off the ground to dust off his uniform.

Now I am not one of those mothers who think their little darlings are never wrong. I was one of those mothers that was completely sure her kids were up to no good, and twice on Sunday.

Before Adam could call the umpire a neanderthal, dog-faced pony soldier, I was on my feet, fingers hooked in the backstop wire telling Adam, “Shut up. Get up. And go sit down. The umpire called you out.” He did.

It wasn’t ‘say it with your glove.’ It was more along the lines of don’t be a disrespectful poor winner or a whining loser and get up play the game like the gentleman I am raising you to be.

“Say it with your glove.” 

It’s a phrase that has come to mind on more than one occasion lately as I listen to people try to tell me the right way to live and be happy. So much trash talking, so much whining, so many unhappy little leaguers turned adults.

“Say it with your life.”

I wish more people would shut their mouths and get back on the field and ‘say it with your life.’

If your choices are right for you, then they should make you happy, regardless of what that other team thinks or believes. If your choices are making you miserable, mean, or prone to name calling, something seems wrong.

Your happiness is not the umpire’s responsibility. Live your life so well that there can be no argument about who is or isn’t a neanderthal. Live your life so well that anyone looking at your life will know you’ve played the best you could and you’ve left it all on the field. 

My husband and I made big choices (against conventional wisdom for the most part) and sacrificed all kinds of worldly “trophies” in the name of faith and family. And in the end, I truly mean it when I say, “May you find your way as pleasant.”

Linda (Right Fielder) Zern

Flock Watching

Smoke. Burning. Fire. I smelled it in my dreams. The scent swirled by and over my nasal passages. I sat up in bed and yelled, “Do you smell that?” 

The acrid taste of destruction coated the back of my tongue. It was 3:43 am.

“Get up. Get up. Something’s burning.” I whacked my husband, Sherwood the high-pitched snore monster, awake.

One gravelly snort later, and he fumbled to his feet. I was already cinched into my animal (unknown species) print bathrobe. “I smell burning,” I snapped.

And like a bird dog scenting prey, I flew through the house sniffing vents, smelling walls, and scratching behind my ear. Horrified, I inspected the light fixtures, recently installed by my son-in-law. Was it possible he’d done defective work, caused an electrical short, and now we were all going to have to live in the barn in our underwear? Of course, it was possible. I flew to the Christmas tree, unplugging Christmas cheer with a vengeance. 

I counted grandchildren piled in heaps throughout my house, visiting for Christmas. I worked out an evacuation plan as I ran sniffing wall sockets.

“Sherwood!” I cried. “Do you smell that?”

He had already found a ladder, climbed the ladder, and was sticking his head into the attic.

“It can’t be the heater.” I screeched. “I turned it on earlier in the day. To seventy-six degrees. If it was dust on the heater coils it would have burned off by now. Surely. Surely.” On my hands and knees, I inspected baseboards with my nose.

My grown, combat veteran son appeared, followed by my daughter-in-law.

“Get on that chair and sniff that vent,” I ordered. He did. “Feel the ceiling,” I commanded. He did. 

“Nothing’s hot,” he said, calmly.

“It’s in the walls,” I countered, tearing at my hair and sniffing at picture frames. 

And then one horrible, terrible, nasty, awful thought occurred to me. I raced to the utility room to confer with my husband. 

“You didn’t come behind me when I turned on the heater and lower the temperature? Right? And this is the first time it’s kicking on? So my assumption that this isn’t coil dust burning off but a raging inferno is based on crap information in my half crazed brain? RIGHT?” I directed my comments to my husband’s feet because he was still standing on the idiot ladder, his head still stuck up in the freezing attic. “You didn’t lower the temp,” I repeated. “Right?”

“No,” he replied.

I ran to the thermostat. The heater was on—set to seventy-two. The temperature inside the house? Seventy-one. I had set the temp at seventy-six. This was the first time the heater had kicked on. It was simple math.

“You lied,” I hissed.

Flames bubbled behind my eyeballs. I squashed my eyes to narrow slits. “I’m calling the fire department!”

“No. Don’t. It’s probably dust on the heater coils.”

“You stupid, stupid man,” I yelled. “You’re not a fireman. You! Don’t! Know!” I dragged that last bit out with flare, passion, and drama.

He climbed down the ladder. 

Needless to say, the ensuing conversation was neither productive nor Christ-like. Everyone went back to bed, but I stayed awake, bug-eyed and unsettled, until dawn. 

Someone has to keep watch over the flocks by night.

Linda (Sheep-Dog) Zern

How I Made a Study Guide/Reading Guide for My Book!

 For those that love to learn,

I rejoice in a book that makes me want to learn more, do more, and think more, and with that in mind, I put together this unit study guide as a companion to the first book in my Strandline Trilogy (Beyond the Strandline, Book I).

As a teacher, tutor, and homeschool parent/grandparent, I always appreciate hands-on activities and unit style study guides that cover a multitude of subjects (history, science, social studies, language, and more) because learning is forever and connected. 

Authors often do a great deal of research when they write their novels. A study guide can extend the reading experience for students, fans, and even book clubs. Sharing what you've learned or studied in researching and writing a novel is a delightful way to teach both the value of research and a love for discovery.  There's also the added benefit of teaching comprehension and understanding. Unit studies also address the needs of visual, auditory, and kinesthetic learners. 

HOW IS A UNIT STUDY DIFFERENT? Rather than teach subjects in unconnected segments or subjects, a unit study seeks to show the connections between all of the disciplines. History can be a wonderful overview, when taught in a unit study framework shows the way humans develop and integrate knowledge. Individual subjects taught in sixty minute intervals are more for convenience in a traditional classroom setting, rather than a comprehensive program of integrated learning.      

HOW DO I START?   I went through a few of the study guides that I found helpful when I was a homeschooling parent. Also Google UNIT STUDY. There are a wealth of various guides and outlines out there.  Some focus more on discussion or book club settings. A lot of the study guides run very heavily to worksheets or pencil and paper activities. I've always preferred things that you can do or make (ie hands-on).

HOW DO I STRUCTURE MY STUDY GUIDE?  The sky's the limit, but I wanted a format with some structure. Each of the chapters include the following areas: 

    DISCOVER (Concept): Look for and discover ideas and facts that can deepen the story and the reading experience. (In this section I point out subjects or ideas for additional research.)

    DISCUSS (Observation and Discussion): This section is structured in a book club discussion format. (Once again, using the actual text, I chose a phrase or quote and suggest questions to stimulate discussion.)

    DEFINE (Vocabulary): Straight up definitions of words and phrases used in the chapter.

    DRAW/WRITE/SAY (Language, Art, Speech): Students learn to express themselves through written, visual, and oral projects. Example (Chapters 14-17) Research the history of keeping time and sundials and give an oral report.

    DO (Hands on projects to make and do): Anything that can be touched, created, or made is a fabulous way to cement concepts and learning.) Example (Chapters 14-17) Create a homemade sundial with a link. NOTE:  Internet web addresses are considered open source information and cannot be copyrighted. 

WHAT FORMAT SHOULD YOU CONSIDER FOR YOUR STUDY GUIDE? I have both an e-version of the guide and an 8 1/2" by 11" workbook sized version. I wanted something that could be opened flat, written in, and used as a workbook. But it's up to you and the focus you'd like for your study/reading guide.

HOW DID YOU DECIDE ON YOUR TOPICS? I was after something for a more academic use, but certainly those that write "prepper fiction" might want to focus more on the tips, tricks, and how to's of prepping and survival. And those that write more literary works might focus on the how to's of writing or creating a story.  Again, the sky be limitless. 

IN CONCLUSION:  Writers and authors are creative creatures, that can, from whole cloth, make characters that people love. And then we kill them. And then we solve the crime. We're awesome. 

Get creative.  Think outside the box. Be relentlessly helpful.

Sincerely,

Linda L. Zern  

Book of Zern - 2020

1. And there did commence a great plague in that selfsame year, that did spread forth throughout the land, first coming to Santa Clara county in the land westward, even California, arriving there from those strangers that did travel much, back and forth, from the mysterious land of China.2. And it came to pass, that Sherwood, even the patriarch of our tribe, did find himself in the land of San Francisco in the beginning of that selfsame great year of the plague, even 2020, having traveled far to work and wander about the wilderness of the Oracle cafeteria werein he wore no mask or gloves or had knowledge of the afore mentioned danger.3. Thus he did bring forth a wicked cough.4. Which he carried back to our tribe. He did inquire of his physician about this most annoying of coughs, being told that he dideth have but a virus and to go home and live.  5. And thus he did live.6. But then the plague did wax sore in our home, making me think that I had a most unusual cold that dideth linger for weeks upon weeks, and not knowing that I shouldest give up all hope, I did eat much of Cuban chicken soup brought forth by a loving ministering angel that dideth cause my recovery. And I did give thanks and live. 7. And then the plague did continue sore throughout all the land and men’s hearts did fail them in all manner of ways.8. Yet our tribe did continue to live; to mourn with those that mourn; and to pray for those whose hearts did faileth them; especially when the paper used much in the potty did disappear from all corners of the land. 9. And Aric, even the eldest, did go forth, he and his family, from the land of many seasons to settle southward in the land of bridges and beaches, there to finish his twenty years serving both his country and kith and kin. He made much of his chances and sought to finish both his education and his career. 10. In the year of the plague, the Stahles did continue in their way of homeschooling, working from home, and walking much through the land wherein they did dwell. And their eldest did practice much of driving and their youngest continue to toddle forth his diapers being full. And their mother did continue teaching the children of her people the joy of dancing in a barn.11. But it was the Lorance family that did seek to prosper in the land westward, even Texas, having moved to a larger dwelling and acquired a dog that dideth ingest much of socks and Barbie doll clothing; seeking truth both by learning and by study.12. And the youngest, even Adam of the tribe Zern, did find his habitation also in the central plains of the land known as the land of flowers, even Florida. He sought much education and his wife did edit much of my works, school her children in the art of living, and continue to improve both hearth and home.13. And thus we see that living was not ended in the year of the plague but didest continue with the help of both the spirit of discernment and the spirit of faith, hope, and charity.14. And so I make an end. Wishing many and every that they might find their way as pleasant as we do find our way.