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Consignment
When a ne’er-do-well cousin dies unexpectedly, Mary Ellen and Charles Hawley agree to take his young son Steven into their home. The boy’s birth mother, who is mentally ill, has already inflicted some psychological damage, but Mary Ellen is determined to help Steven start over. This act of charity soon takes its toll on a marriage that is already quietly fading. As Mary Ellen struggles to adapt to new parenting challenges, she begins to withdraw from her husband and cling to their two-year-old daughter. Finally, in a fit of longing for her former life, Mary Ellen indulges herself in a shopping trip and misses an afternoon pickup from school. And Charles, who must take up the slack, discovers a secret.
51 pages, Kindle Edition
Published September 5, 2023
9 people want to read
About the author
Joan Bauer
26 books886 followersFrom: http://www.joanbauer.com/jbbio.html
July 12, 1951 - I was born at eleven A.M., a most reasonable time, my mother often said, and when the nurse put me in my mother's arms for the first time I had both a nasty case of the hiccups and no discernible forehead (it's since grown in). I've always believed in comic entrances.
As I grew up in River Forest, Illinois, in the 1950's, I seem to remember an early fascination with things that were funny. I thought that people who could make other people laugh were terribly fortunate. While my friends made their career plans, declaring they would become doctors, nurses, and lawyers, inwardly I knew that I wanted to be involved somehow in comedy. This, however, was a difficult concept to get across in first grade. But I had a mother with a great comic sense (she was a high school English teacher) and a grandmother who had been a funny professional storyteller, so I figured the right genes were in there somewhere, although I didn't always laugh at what my friends laughed at and they rarely giggled at my jokes. That, and the fact that I was overweight and very tall, all made me feel quite different when I was growing up--a bit like a musk ox at a tea party.
My grandmother, who I called Nana, had the biggest influence on me creatively. She taught me the importance of stories and laughter. She never said, "Now I'm going to tell you a funny story," she'd just tell a story, and the humor would naturally flow from it because of who she was and how she and her characters saw the world. She showed me the difference between derisive laughter that hurts others and laughter that comes from the heart. She showed me, too, that stories help us understand ourselves at a deep level. She was a keen observer of people.
I kept a diary as a child, was always penning stories and poems. I played the flute heartily, taught myself the guitar, and wrote folk songs. For years I wanted to be a comedienne, then a comedy writer. I was a voracious reader, too, and can still remember the dark wood and the green leather chairs of the River Forest Public Library, can hear my shoes tapping on the stairs going down to the children's room, can feel my fingers sliding across rows and rows of books, looking through the card catalogs that seemed to house everything that anyone would ever need to know about in the entire world. My parents divorced when I was eight years old, and I was devastated at the loss of my father. I pull from that memory regularly as a writer. Every book I have written so far has dealt with complex father issues. My dad was an alcoholic and the pain of that was a shadow that followed me for years, but I've learned things from that experience that have made me resilient. I attempted to address those issues in Rules of the Road, and I took them even further in the companion book, Best Foot Forward. The theme that I try to carry into all of my writing is this: adversity, if we let it, will make us stronger.
In my twenties, I worked in sales and advertising for the Chicago Tribune, McGraw-Hill, WLS Radio, and Parade Magazine. I met my husband Evan, a computer engineer, while I was on vacation. Our courtship was simple. He asked me to dance; I said no. We got married five months later in August, 1981. But I was not happy in advertising sales, and I had a few ulcers to prove it. With Evan's loving support, I decided to try my hand at professional writing. I wish I could say that everything started falling into place, but it was a slow, slow build -- writing newspaper and magazine articles for not much money. My daughter Jean was born in July of '82. She had the soul of a writer even as a baby. I can remember sitting at my typewriter (I didn't have a computer back then) writing away with Jean on a blanket on the floor next to me. If my writing was bad that day, I'd tear that page out of the typewriter and hand it to her. "Bad paper," I'd say and Jean would r
July 12, 1951 - I was born at eleven A.M., a most reasonable time, my mother often said, and when the nurse put me in my mother's arms for the first time I had both a nasty case of the hiccups and no discernible forehead (it's since grown in). I've always believed in comic entrances.
As I grew up in River Forest, Illinois, in the 1950's, I seem to remember an early fascination with things that were funny. I thought that people who could make other people laugh were terribly fortunate. While my friends made their career plans, declaring they would become doctors, nurses, and lawyers, inwardly I knew that I wanted to be involved somehow in comedy. This, however, was a difficult concept to get across in first grade. But I had a mother with a great comic sense (she was a high school English teacher) and a grandmother who had been a funny professional storyteller, so I figured the right genes were in there somewhere, although I didn't always laugh at what my friends laughed at and they rarely giggled at my jokes. That, and the fact that I was overweight and very tall, all made me feel quite different when I was growing up--a bit like a musk ox at a tea party.
My grandmother, who I called Nana, had the biggest influence on me creatively. She taught me the importance of stories and laughter. She never said, "Now I'm going to tell you a funny story," she'd just tell a story, and the humor would naturally flow from it because of who she was and how she and her characters saw the world. She showed me the difference between derisive laughter that hurts others and laughter that comes from the heart. She showed me, too, that stories help us understand ourselves at a deep level. She was a keen observer of people.
I kept a diary as a child, was always penning stories and poems. I played the flute heartily, taught myself the guitar, and wrote folk songs. For years I wanted to be a comedienne, then a comedy writer. I was a voracious reader, too, and can still remember the dark wood and the green leather chairs of the River Forest Public Library, can hear my shoes tapping on the stairs going down to the children's room, can feel my fingers sliding across rows and rows of books, looking through the card catalogs that seemed to house everything that anyone would ever need to know about in the entire world. My parents divorced when I was eight years old, and I was devastated at the loss of my father. I pull from that memory regularly as a writer. Every book I have written so far has dealt with complex father issues. My dad was an alcoholic and the pain of that was a shadow that followed me for years, but I've learned things from that experience that have made me resilient. I attempted to address those issues in Rules of the Road, and I took them even further in the companion book, Best Foot Forward. The theme that I try to carry into all of my writing is this: adversity, if we let it, will make us stronger.
In my twenties, I worked in sales and advertising for the Chicago Tribune, McGraw-Hill, WLS Radio, and Parade Magazine. I met my husband Evan, a computer engineer, while I was on vacation. Our courtship was simple. He asked me to dance; I said no. We got married five months later in August, 1981. But I was not happy in advertising sales, and I had a few ulcers to prove it. With Evan's loving support, I decided to try my hand at professional writing. I wish I could say that everything started falling into place, but it was a slow, slow build -- writing newspaper and magazine articles for not much money. My daughter Jean was born in July of '82. She had the soul of a writer even as a baby. I can remember sitting at my typewriter (I didn't have a computer back then) writing away with Jean on a blanket on the floor next to me. If my writing was bad that day, I'd tear that page out of the typewriter and hand it to her. "Bad paper," I'd say and Jean would r
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
August 1, 2024
I listened to the short story “Consignment” by Joan Bauer. I was draw to this because it is narrated by “Virtual Voice”, a computer-generated narration. The narration sounded realistic.
It’s a short about a couple who take in a young male relative when his father dies, and his mother is mentally ill. They have a two-year-old daughter. The boy is the husband, Charles’s, family member. Mary Ellen agrees, and she is left with him during the day. Mary Ellen is a stay-at-home mother, and Charles works. The time of this story is never mentioned, but it must be in the 1950’s when women were subservient to their men.
Mary Ellen misses her former life, the possibilities it held. Marriage to Charles rendered Mary Ellen to a less sophisticated lifestyle. Her hampered life comes to a head once she is forced to care for the boy.
This is an almost 2 hours listen. It’s interesting. It’s an average listen.
It’s a short about a couple who take in a young male relative when his father dies, and his mother is mentally ill. They have a two-year-old daughter. The boy is the husband, Charles’s, family member. Mary Ellen agrees, and she is left with him during the day. Mary Ellen is a stay-at-home mother, and Charles works. The time of this story is never mentioned, but it must be in the 1950’s when women were subservient to their men.
Mary Ellen misses her former life, the possibilities it held. Marriage to Charles rendered Mary Ellen to a less sophisticated lifestyle. Her hampered life comes to a head once she is forced to care for the boy.
This is an almost 2 hours listen. It’s interesting. It’s an average listen.
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July 21, 2024This was not written by the Joan Bauer attached to this book, but by Joan Elizabeth Bauer. https://joanelizabethbauer.com/ If any Goodreads librarian sees this and would like to fix it, I’d be grateful, as I’m sure this Joan would be as well.
Her “novelette” is an immersive, suspenseful read, and with great characters. It’s an excerpt from an unpublished novel that I discovered afterward will be published next year. I’m looking forward to finding out more about Steven, the character I’m most invested in.
Her “novelette” is an immersive, suspenseful read, and with great characters. It’s an excerpt from an unpublished novel that I discovered afterward will be published next year. I’m looking forward to finding out more about Steven, the character I’m most invested in.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews