[Critique Group 1] Leonard's comments for critique 1 session

[Tuchyner5 at aol.com]

Marcia's piece 
A wonderful approach to memoir writing. By talking about  other peoples’ 
relationships, you are telling your own story. It’s a discovery  of opposites. 
Strictly speaking, some of what the writer experiences is filtered  through 
her own eyes and might be interpreted by other observers as quite  
different. However, this is unimportant to the veracity and extension of this  
piece. In the end, it is about the author, rather than the couple being observed  
on the internet. 
A video screen popped up when I clicked on a link to an  Alzheimer's 
article. Annoyed, I hunted for the control to skip ahead while the  clip began 
playing. Forced to listen, I soon became  fixated. 
Two women are laying side-by-side on what appears to be a  nursing home 
bed. I am captivated by their conversation; the cozy scene tears at  my heart. 
The adult daughter might have been me, the elderly mother with  Alzheimer's 
might well have been mine, except for the fact that my mother and I  have 
never once shared an intimate moments like the one I was witnessing on my  
laptop. 
Fascinated, I watched, feeling as if I was spying on a  private 
conversation through a peephole. Jealous, I beheld an exchange of love  unlike any I 
have ever known, nor ever I will. 
"Do you know you're my momma?" the younger woman  asks. 
The mother giggles, confused as to who is whose momma.  "I'll be your 
momma," she offers. 
I marvel at their nearness and familiarity. My mother has  always been 
averse to forming close relationships. She is distant with everyone,  not just 
me; I claim that fact as consolation. I am the fourth of six children.  
Perhaps there wasn't time for warm embraces. She favored the boys, they could do  
no wrong, but Mom did not confide in any one of us. Was she keeping a 
secret*Did  something traumatic happen to her as a child prior to her marriage 
and family?  Our mom grew up with loving parents and every advantage, so far 
as we knew. What  turned her love inward, forcing out only bitterness and 
anger? 
I am soothed as I listen to the mother and daughter  continue chatting. 
 
"Do you know who I am," the  daughter prompts again.
The old woman hesitates, trying to recall her daughter's  name. 
"Well, didn't I name you?" she asks. "So, I'm loving'  you," she adds. 
'And I'm lovin' you at the same time," the daughter  replies. 
They laugh and meet eyes, expressing delight at the  shared wonder of love. 
How now, after more than 60 years of distance, can I  expect to experience 
a moment so precious with my mother? We have never been  near. I can't even 
recall sitting on her lap as a child. It is painful to  observe; these women 
who are strangers to me have what I want. 
No longer conscious of the day on the calendar, my mother  is now in her 
90s. The time for closeness for this mother and daughter has  passed. 
I reach for the phone, eager to call my own  daughter. 
---- 
 

Deanna's  piece 
I  smiled through the entire story.  The anecdotes were delightful.  The 
piece was full of information and  details. Generally I Blanche at a lot of 
details, but I found all the details  relevant and engaging.  This chapter  in 
the book you seem to be writing further expands the readers connection with 
 the writer and her dog. Tammy’s personality and character keep expanding 
in the  reader’s consciousness. So is it true of the writer. The writer uses 
a  multifaceted, changing environment and circumstance with craft which 
mixes  information, humor and challenges. All in all, a great read.   
I didn’t notice  any thing in need of editing, but that is not my forte.   
My mom, baby sister Christina, Tammy and I  drove north from Santa  Ana in 
late August.  We were headed to the small  farming community of Turlock,  
located 
in the San  Joaquin Valley near  Modesto.  I  had been accepted at both San 
Francisco and  Stanislaus  State Colleges, but found the idea of living off 
 campus 
and learning my way around San Francisco  overwhelming.  Stanislaus was 
actually smaller than the high school I had  graduated from in June. It was 
then 
the youngest of the California State  Colleges.  The dormitory was located 
across highway 99 from the  college.  There was a pedestrian signal  
activated 
by a push button to permit students to cross  the highway.  Then we had to 
follow a tarmac path through fields a long way  to reach the two buildings 
that 
made up the campus.  The library,  cafeteria and administration offices 
were in one building and all classes were  in the other.  A field house was the 
 only 
additional structure completed when Tammy  and I started our freshman year. 
 The college was barely ten years old and  most of my professors were 
holders 
of P.H.D. degrees.  Except for some of  the freshman introductory courses 
held in the theater, classes were small.   When the college had first opened, 
some 
classes had to be held in barns at the  fairgrounds.  So our unflattering 
nickname among the other Cal State  Colleges was Turkey Tech.  Rather than  
being 
stung by this designation, we had a cheer  that went, “Gobble gobble, that’
s our cry, Turkey Tech, do or die!”  The  cheering crowd broke out with an 
imitation 
of a turkey gobble.  It was a lot of  fun.  Actually, the school wasn’t an 
agricultural college but was noted for  its business department. 
Mom helped me carry in my things and I sort  of rushed her off because I 
was scared and didn’t want to prolong the  good-byes.  I left my door open and 
put 
Tammy on a tie-down while I unpacked.   Two girls from Stockton who had 
known each other in high  school came along and introduced themselves.  Annie  
Williams 
became my best friend during our freshman  year.  Like me, she was the 
first member of her family to go to college and  the eldest child in a family of 
five 
siblings.  We were both able to attend  college because we had won 
scholarships and qualified for education opportunity  grants.  Although she was an 
art 
major while I was leaning toward psychology,  we had a lot of things in 
common.  Cathy Dent was more outgoing and  interested in the social scene.   
All freshmen were required to live in the  dormitory, unless they had a 
waiver signed by their parents granting them  permission to live off campus.  
The 
dorm was an L-shaped two-story structure  with a separate cafeteria 
building and a swimming pool located between the two  buildings.  It was co-ed with 
women’s 
rooms upstairs and men’s on the ground  floor.  The entrance was at the 
junction of the two wings.  Tammy and  I had the third room along the left  
wing.  
We didn’t have a roommate.  The dorm  wasn’t completely full and it was 
decided that rooming with a large dog might be  too crowded for anyone to 
share the 
room with  us. 
My room had two beds, two desks with shelves  above them, a large closet 
and a sink.  It was connected through an  adjacent bathroom that held a shower 
and 
an enclosed toilet to the room next  door.  Two older girls shared that 
room.  Sandy and Virginia had  attended junior college and were transferring to 
 Stanislaus 
as juniors.  They were from Los Angeles and were  friendly.  Another upper 
classman named Carol came by and invited me to  join her and some others for 
tea 
in her room after I finished settling  in.  I began to feel a little less 
nervous.  Everyone seemed eager to  help make me feel at home.   
The freshmen started off on a bus the next  morning to attend a freshman 
get acquainted camp in the mountains.  There  was a dance and several 
activities 
designed to give us a chance to meet and to  be talked to by upperclassmen 
and teachers.  Tammy never stopped wagging  her heavy otter tail as we moved 
with 
the group from one area to another.  It  didn’t matter to her if we walked 
on a dirt path or a sidewalk.  She  followed the crowd and located a seat or 
 whatever 
I asked such as the exit or entrance  door.   
Tammy enjoyed the opportunity to meet and  greet each new person that we 
encountered.  I made the first time guide dog  user mistake of allowing 
everyone 
to pet and fuss over my beautiful  girl.  She was definitely an icebreaker 
encouraging people to approach and  introduce themselves to me. 
When I was fourteen years old, I had decided  that I couldn’t afford to 
allow my natural shyness to continue.  When you  are different from others, 
people 
who don’t know you tend to keep their  distance.  I realized that if I 
wanted to make friends, it was up to me to  make the first overtures.  My high  
school 
classmates were generous about helping to  carry my heavy books or 
braillewriter, but it didn’t occur to them often to  invite me to join them in after 
school 
activities.  Tammy made everything so  much easier by serving as a topic of 
conversation.  Other students  approached us to introduce themselves, rave  
over 
Tammy’s beauty, and ask questions. They  talked about favorite pet dogs and 
that led naturally in to discussing other  topics.  

If someone offered to show me how to get to  the dining hall or other 
place, I knew I could find it again with Tammy’s  help.  If I wanted to go to a 
concert 
or play held on campus, I could just go on  my own and friends came over to 
sit with us. I was no longer dependent on the  time schedules of others.  
If 
I needed a break from the noise of the dorm,  I could take a quiet long 
walk confident that I wouldn’t get  lost.     
The only hitch in all this was that I soon  found that everyone knew Tammy’
s name and almost no one remembered mine.   Since DeAnna seemed to transform 
into 
Diana, Dina, Daria, Dena and almost anything  else that began with the 
letter D.  I started using Dee to make things  easier. 
Our room was next to the pay phone for the  two women’s wings. The phone 
rang and rang.  Finally when I couldn’t stand  the noise another minute, I 
gave 
in and answered it.   Sometimes I  got bored saying “Yosemite Hall.”  I 
substituted “Hello, devil speaking.  Who in hell do you want?” Or using my  
sultriest 
voice I’d vary my routine to say, “Good  evening, this is Peggy’s house of 
fun and games. Who is your pleasure?”   That one got me in trouble when the 
caller 
was one of the other girls' mothers.   Things usually went something like 
this.  The call was for someone at the  other end of the hall.  Tammy and I 
ran 
down the corridor only to find the girl  wasn’t in her room.  Then we ran 
back to take a message.  I typed the  note and we ran back to the right room 
to 
post it.  This gave us lots of practice  locating rooms and meeting more 
people.  Tammy became so popular, that a  group of fraternity guys decided to 
run 
her for freshman princess.  They made  up posters claiming that she was a 
perfect size twelve, (her collar size) and  had a winning personality.  
Everywhere 
we went, people called out greetings to  her.  I began to feel invisible! 
Tammy loved to wear a string of bright  beads, scarf or other ornament.  
Annie gave her a blue plastic peace symbol  and she seemed to know she was 
especially 
pretty when decked out in any little bit of  finery. Her step had an added 
bounce and became almost a prance.  One day,  we walked past a yard where 
some 
students were holding a barbecue.  A  girl’s voice exclaimed, “Look at 
that beautiful dog!”  Then a pleasant male  voice answered, “The girl’s not 
bad  either.”  
I felt like doing a celebratory dance.   I wasn’t invisible after all.  
One of the people I met at the freshman camp  was a quiet young man named 
Curtis Noriega.  He made such a fuss over  Tammy, she hurried toward him in 
any 
crowd to say hello.  It wasn’t until we  had been going out for a burger or 
movie on occasion, that he admitted he didn’t  really like dogs.  He 
preferred 
cats as pets.    
I discovered that I would have to put a stop  to Tammy’s desire to meet and 
greet her friends.   When she saw Curt  as we were coming down the stairs 
at 
the dorm, she surged forward pulling me off  my feet.  I fell badly 
spraining an ankle.  Some lessons just have to  be learned the hard way. 
It is often difficult for the general public  to understand the insistence 
guide dog handlers must make that their dogs not be  spoken too, petted or 
fed 
by everyone.  They are so beautiful,  intelligent and friendly, people long 
to reach out to pet or speak to  them.  However, a moment’s lapse in  
attention 
to their job can cause a serious injury to  the person they are guiding.  
Seeing a friend across the street might lead  them to start the crossing 
without 
checking for traffic.  A scrap from  someone’s lunch could upset the dog's 
stomach, causing an embarrassing accident  at a crucial moment.  It could 
impair 
the dog’s ability to guide due to feeling  ill.  It could lead to bad 
habits like begging or scavenging.   Un-authorized snacks might also result in an 
 unhealthy 
weight gain and shorten the guide’s working  life.  For both our sakes, I 
had to curtail Tammy’s social  interactions. 
As winter set in, a group trip was planned  for those living in the dorm to 
go up to Yosemite for the weekend.  I was still finding it  difficult to 
manage 
on my sprained ankle received when Tammy  bounded down the stairs to greet 
our friend Curt.  Since I had already paid  my fee, I decided to go.  Sandy 
and 
Virginia, the two girls from the room next  to mine asked Curt to drive us 
up into the Sierras.  Since he drove, the  girls didn’t want him to stay in 
another 
cabin, in case we wanted the car. He got  teased about his four female 
roommates, three human and one canine.   However, we each had our own bunks. 
Since 
all of us were quite modest young ladies, he  wasn’t treated to any free 
floorshows.   Everyone got to practice  getting into pajamas with lights 
turned 
out.  Tammy loved the snow.  She  thought catching and eating snowballs 
great sport.  Also high on her list  was burrowing through snow banks rolling 
and 
snorting.  Of course this necessitated  a vigorous rubdown with a towel 
upon our return indoors.  The trip was fun  and Tammy and I had many more 
visits 
to this lovely valley in the Sierras over  our years as a team.   
I put up a one foot Christmas tree in my  dorm room and discovered that my 
dog loved packages as much as I did.  Two  of them were of particular 
interest 
to her.  She took every opportunity to  steal and try to open them.  The 
crackle of the paper always gave her  activity away.  When I heard that sound  
I 
demanded the return of the plunder.   One gift was actually for her.  I don’
t know how she guessed that, as it  was in a box.  Perhaps her nose led her 
 to 
believe that no one would be giving me a  rawhide chew toy.  The other 
present though was one meant for me.  It  was a closet sachet filled with some 
kind 
of scented mixture of flowers and  herbs.  This made me wonder if there was 
a comparable plant to catnip that  appealed to dogs included in the blend. 
Tammy loved the cold.  Whether we  walked through the central valley fog 
and rain or into a brisk sea breeze, her  pace and pull increased as the 
temperature 
dropped.  Best of all she loved walking  through falling snow.  Her tail 
wagged constantly.  She could brace me  over patches of ice if I slipped, but 
just 
loved striding out into a cold wind.    
Tammy’s retriever soul manifested itself in  a new way.  She began to pick 
up things she could easily carry in her  mouth.  She didn’t chew or damage  
them.  
However, I did feel obligated to pay for the  can of soup, bunch of bananas 
and candy bar she carried to the checkout line at  the grocery store.  Odd 
tennis 
balls, ashtrays, and candlesticks began to  appear in our room.  I finally 
solved this tendency for indulging in  kleptomania by giving her a small 
change 
purse to carry when we went out.  It  didn’t interfere with her guiding, 
and eliminated her desire to appropriate  other people’s possessions.  
She loved to retrieve anything I dropped and  proudly presented me with 
lost pocket change, my shoe or anything else she  thought I was searching for 
on 
the floor.  Soon she associated a name  with my sweater, or jacket, my tape 
recorder case, my backpack, her leash and  harness.  I could ask her for 
any 
of these items and she dashed to find and  bring them to me. 
Her habit of making a dive for anything I  dropped was finally curbed when 
I accidentally allowed a bar of soap to slip  from my hand.  Not realizing 
that 
Tammy had snatched it up.  I kept  searching the bathroom floor.  Finally, 
Tammy thrust the bar of soap into  my hand and charged off to get a drink.  
After 
this bubble blowing misadventure, she waited  to be asked to retrieve 
dropped articles.     
Tammy’s skill at choosing good footing made  it possible to work safely at 
any speed.  When I hadn’t allowed enough time  to make it to a class, she 
enjoyed 
covering the distance along the paved path  at a dead run.  Although she 
moved quickly with a strong pull on cold,  windy or foggy days, on hot sunny 
ones, 
she hurried across hot tarmac and slowed  down to walk in the shade of 
trees.  Whatever our pace, she focused on her  work.  Her alert eyes scanned for 
 hazards, 
took note of people and animals but  concentrated on navigating the best 
course to keep me safe.  She took her  work very seriously.   
Tammy had an exceptional memory.  One  day when I was wearing new sandals, 
I left the classroom building by a side  door.  I slipped on rain slick  
steps.  
Whenever I subsequently used that exit,  Tammy approached those steps 
cautiously.  She seemed to think that they  were likely to cause me to slither 
down 
them again if she didn’t take special  care.   
Her sense of fun was a constant source of  laughter to everyone.  I was 
taking her out on leash to relieve when a  football whizzed past us.  Tammy was 
 off 
after it in a flash.  Catching it by  the laces, she entered the impromptu 
football game being played by some of the  fellows from the dorm.  It took 
them 
nearly ten minutes of chasing her around the  swimming pool before she 
returned to me so I could give back the ball.  If  she got bored watching me 
study, 
she began a game of tossing her tennis ball  for herself and chasing it 
around the room.      
Her favorite toys were ones with squeakers  in them.  I am sure people were 
slightly concerned about that poor blind  girl’s sanity when I took her 
shopping 
for a new toy.  I made each type on  offer squeak and placed it on the 
floor in front of Tammy.  She sat cocking  her head listening to the sounds.   
Finally, 
she picked one from the line in front of  her.  After I replaced the 
rejects, she walked proudly to the cashier  carrying her selection so I could pay 
for 
the winner.  Life with my best friend  and college roommate was never dull. 
 

Cleora's  piece 
I like this version a  lot.  It’s interesting and engaging.  There is also 
a satisfaction in seeing a bad guy getting his come-up pings.  It’s also 
good to see the victim getting  the upper hand and destroying him. It’s 
especially satisfying when the person is  handicapped and a woman besting a male 
blowhard.  
The comments below are  for discussion. I’m not convinced they are valid 
points, but since they occurred  to me I wrote them down.

John gently  tugged on the slot in the side of the sliding glass door of 
his soon to be  x-wife’s house.
"HA!" he thought. No matter how long she lives she will never  learn.
The door slid open almost silently. 
"Fault, patio door," announced  the security system. 
Why would the patio  door announce anything if it was not turned on? I know 
from the last version  that she forgot to lock the door.  But I would not 
know that from this edition.  This may not be an issue for those who  know 
how security systems work, but I suspect that most people are not security  
system savvy.  

He slipped through  the opening and gently slid the door closed.
He wasn't worried about the  security system giving him away. Linda, he 
knew, would be in the shower at this  time of the morning and not hear the 
tell-tale announcements of his  entry.
Confidently, he walked to the kitchen.
As always, there was an old  fashioned metal kettle filled with water on 
the small back burner of the  stove. 
He is pretty brazen  and perhaps foolish to depend so completely upon her 
following her usual  routines   

He clicked the  knob clockwise to the high setting.
Then, he went down the hall to her  room.
He found and opened the jewelry box that he knew would contain one of  her 
diamond bracelets she was planning to wear to tonight’s fund raiser. She  
always took it out of the safe ahead of time.
How many times had her lawyer  and insurance agent warned her it was best 
to wear a paste imitation? Oh well,  all the better for him that she doesn't 
listen.
Dropping the bracelet in his  breast pocket, he walked casually back to the 
living room, sat down on the  couch, crossed his left ankle over his right 
knee, clasped his hands behind his  head, and leaned back to wait.
His eyes stared blankly at the back wall of  the kitchen. Soon it would be 
over. She would be dead before the divorce was  final. The pre-nup gave him 
a divorce settlement of half a mill, but if either  of them passed while 
married, the entire estate of over 10 million dollars in  property, cash, and 
securities would be liquidated and divided equally between  himself and her 
four adult children.
Two mill was definitely better than a  half.
He planned to stash everything under a loose pavestone he had found in  the 
border around the flower garden at the park. After the will was settled, he 
 would tell everyone he was taking a trip to Europe to heal from the loss 
of the love of his life. He  would fence the necklace there. Or, maybe he 
would just give it as a present to  some sweet young French girl. 
He smiled riley to himself as the kettle began  to whistle.
"That's funny," he heard Linda say as she opened the door to the  bathroom. 
"I don't remember turning on the kettle."
John chuckled quietly and  shook his head. Still talking to herself. She 
will never change, he  thought.
Hum, for some reason, she had gone back to her bedroom. He was  beginning 
to wonder what was up when, at last, Linda came down the hall and  crossed 
the living room on her way to the kitchen. She was dressed in her dull  brown 
corduroy housecoat; her right hand resting in its only pocket. A red bath  
towel was wrapped around her freshly shampooed hair.
She strolled right past  him with only a brief glance at the patio door. He 
knew that the RP had advanced  to the point that she had no or very poor 
peripheral vision and could not see  anything in the area where he was 
sitting. 
Using the initials RP  might be confusing to people who don’t know about 
eye diseases. It might be  better either to describe the eye issue before 
naming  it. 

Turning around to  face the stove she removed her hand from her pocket to 
turn the knob to the off  position. 
Knowing, from the  first rendition, that she has a gun. I assume it is in 
her pocket. In that case,  why did she remove her hand from the pistol toting 
pocket to turn off the  kettle? Why didn’t she use her other hand to do so. 

"Don't touch that  dial," commanded John taking the small pistol from his 
pocket and pointing it at  her.
"You really should reconsider locking that patio door," John said rising  
from the couch and stepping around the coffee table into the dim light so she 
 could see his form.
She looked toward the sound bringing him into her field  of vision.
He smiled wryly as her eyes grew large her mouth dropped open in  surprise, 
and her hand dropped back into her pocket.
"But, I guess you won't  have any more time to change. The story in the 
papers will be so sad” It will  read something like:

The young heiress was discovered by a friend late  Saturday evening when he 
came by to pick her up for a fund raiser being  sponsored by a local club. 
It is believed that she was killed when she surprised  a burglar who entered 
from the unlocked patio door. She had apparently forgotten  to set the 
alarm so the police were not summoned.
Her heart broken husband of  15 years said he had warned her time and 
again, but still she would leave that  patio door unlocked.
That’s quite mouthful.  I’m not sure it is realistic for him to  deliver 
that little speech without hesitations. 

The sound of the  kettle whistling muffled the gun shot.
Her arms went up as she staggered and  fell backwards.
He waited but there was no sound. He lowered his weapon. He  thought about 
going into the kitchen to make sure she was dead, but he was an  expert 
marksman and he was sure he had not missed. He just couldn't bring  himself to 
look at her. He turned to leave the way he had come.
"Don't  move."
startled, he turned to see her standing behind him. She was holding a  
small pistil in both hands. As she raised it to eye level and aimed it straight  
at his head her dressing gown came slightly open at the neck revealing a 
light  weight bullet proof vest.
“I knew I should have made a head shot," he  said.
"I knew you had come when I heard the kettle whistle. I texted Rob next  
door and he called the police. They should be here any minute. You know, I 
think  I should just blow you away right now. After all, you did shoot at me. 
The paper  would talk about how devastated I was to find that I had shot and 
killed my  estranged husband thinking he was a burglar.
It will explain how with my poor  vision damaged by RP, I was unable to 
recognize you at this distance and just  shot at the figure of the intruder.
The paper will quote me as saying, 'Sure,  we had our problems and we were 
in the process of getting a divorce, but I never  wanted him dead. I just 
feel so bad. It never occurred to me that he would try  to rob me.' It would 
be a just reward for all the verbal and mental abuse you  have put me through 
over the years, not to mention all the toys you have bought  yourself with 
my money, don't you think?”
"you know you can't do it."
"you  think not?"
"If you were going to, you would have done it already." John  began to 
raise his own weapon.
"Fault patio door."
John's head whipped  around to see a policeman and their neighbor Rob 
stepping into the living  room.
"Freeze," said the officer who was pointing his service revolver at  John.
John dropped his pistil and raised his hands.
The officer picked up  the gun, and cuffed John's hands behind his back. 
"I'll need you to come down to  the station and make a statement, Ma'am," he 
said.
Linda went and turned off  the stove and moved the shrieking kettle to a 
cool burner.
Rob was standing  next to the officer. "I'll bring her down as soon as 
possible," he said.
John  was charged with robbery and attempted murder.
"with your statement and his  history of abuse, there's no question he's 
going away for a long time," they  assured her at the police station.
"Thank you" said Linda. "I feel I can  really move on now." She looked up 
at Rob and smiled. “And, thank you, Rob, I  don’t know what might have 
happened if you and the officer hadn’t arrived when  you did.”
"It looked like you had things well in hand," said Rob. "In fact, I  get 
the feeling we may have saved the jerk's  life."
"Maybe
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