[Critique Group 1] Leonard's comments on group1

Fri Jul 29 12:13:18 EDT 2022

This ;piecedescribes how Illness actually nourishes  yu 

by  cushioning you in a  cocoon of steadiness. 

It remindsme of how doctors put a person in a state of coma  

to give thebody and brain a space  in which toheal.  

Entrophyseems to be a state of steadiness  whichdefines this state of being. 

It workdsin concert with the illness 

to supporta state of idelness. 

Echnically,entrophy  may not be the best word, 

but itworks here.  

You haveused an amazingly small amount of words 

to describesomething very difficult to explain. 

Great job. 

Theidleness of illness

envelopesmy aging body,

cushioningits frailty

in sweetoblivion.

The world’spersistent entropy

stopsmid-spin and quiets

to match myslow and steady breathing.

 -------

Wow! 

You nailed every issue.  

I absolutely, positively agree with every  iota of opinion and related emotion 

you have expressed. 

The issues facing the modern kid growing up inan unstable,changing world, 

does not leave much room for good advice.  

What’s good is bad and what’s bad is good. 

It’s an on the other hand world. 

There is nothing I can say to improve yourwriting stylke.  

Martia sub for July 22

A break from my book – sensitive subject matter

The Fatalists

777 words

As a single mother of two blond blue-eyed girlsin their teens, I wasn’t naïve about their emerging sexuality. Having forsakenmy own virginity at age 16, I knew the allure of a boy’s kisses. Fortunately,back in the 1970s, I was able to obtain the birth control pill without myparents’ consent. In the 1980s, following a sexual assault, I chose to have anabortion at a compassionate Planned Parenthood clinic. Ultimately, I postponedmotherhood until my late 30s.

Still, motherhood wasn’t easy. After my divorce,I struggled without child support to pay for my girls’ back-to-school clothes,orthodontia, and special needs. In the 1990s, being proactive, I took myadolescent daughters to the doctor for advice on birth control before it wastoo late to consider. I feared the burdens an unplanned pregnancy could createfor not only them, but me. In my 50s at that time, I had no desire to raise mygrandchildren.

Despite my cautions and precautions, my olderdaughter conceived her first child out of wedlock, nearly a child herself, Ithought, at age 20. She claimed only one or two missed pills had resulted inher pregnancy. Her university plans were derailed. Her boyfriend deserted. Herfrantic mother encouraged abortion; not for the first time, my advice wasignored. I believe it is a woman’s right to choose, and the choice was mydaughter’s that time, not mind.

Do I regret my advice? It’s complicated. Today,my 10-year-old grandson is one of the singular lights in my life. I am hisNana, not Mom, and his mother is a Super Mom. That’s not to say that mydaughter hasn’t struggled financially, physically, and emotionally; raising achild while trying to advance her career, sacrificing her social life, andfinding precious time to take care of herself. She is exhausted, lives paycheck to pay check, and neglects her own mental and physical well-being.

Meanwhile, I steered my younger daughter,attention deficit, away from the birth control pill - lest she forget to takeone or two like her sister. Instead, we opted for the depo shot and implantswhich protected her for months, even years, at a time. She was “free” toexplore her relationships without the risk of conception. However…her firstboyfriend, a dad himself as a teen, left her with the lifetime legacy ofherpes. Her second beau kicked her out of his trailer, literally, inbelow-freezing temperatures one December night. Her third boyfriend struggledwith insecurity and anxiety. My daughter wore the pants in their relationship.When it crumbled, she withdrew from the world of heterosexual romance and foundlove online with another woman who, like her, was coping with the ravages of anSTD and prior abusive relationships. They are happy and compatible. If destinyprovides an opportunity, they hope to be parents one day. Despite theirnurturing desires, I worry they will struggle as mothers often do. Coping witha global pandemic, inflationary prices, and a warming world on the brink ofWWIII, they often depend on me to help cover the rising cost of groceries,transportation, and extraordinary medical expenses. Nearing 70, my resourcesare fixed and dwindling.

Regardless of my well-intended attempts toprotect my daughters, The Fates played a more powerful role. For centuries,three ancient goddesses known as The Fates have been credited (or blamed) forweaving the threads of destiny. Clotho, the spinner; Lachesis, the allotter;and Atropos who cuts the threads, were believed to influence birth and death –not mothers or birth control devices, not doctors or courts or Congress.

Today, a woman’s right to manage contraceptionand reproduction is manipulated by three old men I call The Fatalists – Trump,the liar; McConnell, the minimizer; and Alito, the dismantler. Other likefatalists in the not-so-distant past denied a woman’s right to vote, ownproperty, or seek a divorce, even under circumstances of domestic abuse. Thefate of women and children in the 21st Century has neverbeen more uncertain.

If The Fatalists can criminalize birth controland abortion, they should also submit deadbeat Dads to castration. If women areforced to carry every pregnancy to term, they shouldn’t be marginalized,stigmatized, or driven into unemployment and poverty as a result; nor should childrensuffer from neglect, abandonment, hunger, or homelessness. It is estimated thatmore than 1.6 million children in America are homeless today. Nearly half ofthose children are under age six. Perhaps The Fatalists who claim to cherishwomen and children should be taxed at a higher rate to provide impactedfamilies with food, shelter, and clothing, along with access to health care,day care, and education.

This piece is interesting, 

informative, 

well written, amusing, 

and it gives a profile of yur new dog in a verycompanionable way. 

It also gives some of your own background in anengaging manner. 

In a short space you have accomplished a lot. 

Great job.

Deana sub for July 22

Leaving On a Jet Plane

By DeAnna Quietwater Noriega

Ten times I have gone to the airport to fly toMorristown New Jersey to meet someone to share my life journey. Sometimes Ihave been grieving the loss of a dear friend. At other times I went knowingthat I was entering a new adventure with excitement and eager anticipation. Inever knew who I would meet or whether my new friend would be exactly who Ineeded in my life.

Training with a guide dog requires faith inoneself and determination to begin again with a dog who doesn’t know me orparticularly want too be my partner. Like learning to dance with a stranger, Ihave to adjust how I move to synchronize my steps to my partner.  I haveto pay attention to subtle clues as to how I can build the rapport to become ateammate. What character traits make this dog unique in their approach tonavigating along crowded streets filled with traffic, other pedestrians, sidewalkfurniture, broken pavement and obstacles in our path.

Each time I have made this journey, I havelearned new techniques to achieve the desired outcome of forging the necessarybonds to achieve the synergy that is a well-functioning team.

Does my new dog need a cheerleader to supporthis timidity and give him confidence? Does this dog need to be handled firmlyin order to establish that I am the one in charge? Does she have tendenciesthat will need to be curbed so as not to become a problem in future? For example,does she sniff too much, distract from working to engage with other dogs,scavenge or want to chase after scampering wildlife? How does my new dogindicate the things he sees? Time is short and we race through new challengesand experiences designed to prepare us to be on our own.

This time, my new friend bounded across my roomto place both front paws in my lap. He wagged joyfully and tried to lick myface. He is a two-year-old Labrador Retriever the color of a toastedmarshmallow. He has red-gold ears and muzzle which accent his amber eyes. He is64 pounds of puppy enthusiasm, standing 22 inches at the shoulder. His name isFlynn.

Flynn’s exuberance seems to say: “Oh goody, Igot a lady! Please love me and take me away from this gruff trainer!” I learnthat he was raised by an older woman who was also raising an eight-month-oldGerman Shepherd and had a pet cat. He was born in February, just before theclosure of the school because of covid. His trainer was a young woman who hadaccepted a work-from-home position, since she had a new baby. His puppy-raisersent along a stuffed duck with a squeaker inside. She said he liked to sleepwith it.

One of the things I loved was his unique way ofexpressing his enjoyment when he thought he was doing a good job. His tail wascarried in a curve over his back. He wagged it when he was sure he was makingthe best choice in avoiding broken sidewalks. The tip of that tail whiskedagainst the underside of my forearm like butterfly kisses. He exhibited confidencecombined with cautiousness, moving smoothly from one edge of the sidewalk tothe other to ensure that I had the smoothest section available to walk upon. IfFlynn works the average number of years in-harness, I will be in my eightiesand will be able to request that a dog be brought to me for a home placement.Then again, he might be the last dog that I partner with in this dance of life.

There wasn’t much of a Segway for Misty to makethe trip to her house. 

A few sentences would be helpful. 

Misty is instructed to put the notebook downwhen she wants to turn off the magic. 

In stead, she puts it  in her pocket. 

That doesn’t seem t do it 

because she is able to follow the fairy to herhouse. 

Assumably by magic. 

In describing the gifts at the Christmas tree, Ididn’t understand what was in the shoe box. 

Can you explain? 

For the most part this is an effective piece. 

It achieves the emotional feelings  that I think you intend 

to concerning the sadness and hopelessness ofthe situation.  

I’m wondering why there can’t be a compromise. 

Does it have to be either or. 

There must be more to this story. 

Cleora sub for July 22

1209 words

chapter 7

“Sniff. I don’t know how,” said Misty. “It isimpossible. My parents are divorcing, and they don’t want me and my sister.And, thanks to you, I can’t be seen or heard. How am I going to live my life asa ghost?”

“What would make it a Happy Christmas for you?”asked Ginger.

“Are you listening to me? Nobody can see or hearme. What difference does it make what I do now. My life is over.”

“Put the notepad down when you want to benormal. That will turn off the magic. Now, Let’s get you back home.” Mistydidn’t move. “ Come on, now. Follow me.”

Misty watched Ginger moving away for severalseconds. Finally, reluctantly, she rose, put the notebook in her jacket pocket,and followed the faery.

At Misty’s house, Ginger hovered beside thefront door. “Like I said, when you want to be seen and heard like normal, putthe pad down. If you need the magic again, pick it up.”

Misty paused by the door, looking at Ginger.“Thank you,” she said. She wanted to say more, but couldn’t think of anything.

“Goodbye,” said Ginger. “Good, luck.” There wasa flash, and the space formerly occupied by the nymph was empty.

Misty opened the door and stepped into the entryway. Straight ahead was their Christmas tree with its twinkling mini Christmaslights and presents underneath. To the left, Her Mom, Dad, and Connie weresitting around the table. Her Dad saw her come in, and motioned toward an emptychair. “Come join us,” he said.

Misty slipped her jacket off and hung it on thecoat rack by the door. She reached in the pocket and felt the notebook. ‘Isthat good enough?’ she wondered. As a test, she placed her finger on her noseand thought about being in the kitchen. Nothing happened. Breathing a sigh ofrelief she joined the others.

“You must be hungry,” said her mother.

Misty nodded.

Her mother got a box from the freezer, and heldit up for Misty to see. “Turkey pot pie okay?”

Misty nodded.

Her mother removed the pie from the box, poppedit into the microwave, set the timer, and returned to her chair.

“I know you’re planning to ship us off toGranma,” said Misty.

Her parents looked at each other.

“I’m sorry,” said John. “You’re mother and Ididn’t want this Christmas to be ruined for you. We were planning to wait untilafter New Years to tell you. But, since you know, we can talk about it now ifyou want.”

The microwave dinged, and Misty got up. “I’llget it Mom,” she said. She took a spoon from the silver ware drawer, got herpie, and sat down. She broke the crust with the spoon and started mixing thecrust with the filling.

“Why don’t you want us?” said Connie.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s not that. It has neverbeen that. We both love the two of you very much. That’s why we want yourGrandmother Conner to take you. Then both of us can visit you any time withoutputting the two of you in the middle.”

“I heard you talking to Grandma Parker,” saidConnie.

“Um, yes,” said John. “We, that is, I talked toGranddad Parker. We thought about my parents first, but when I called we foundout Granddad Parker has been diagnosed with a serious health condition…”

“Oh, great!” interrupted Connie, “This terribleChristmas just gets better and better.”

Their father stared at his empty plate.

“Why don’t you want us?” repeated Misty. “Is itbecause we fight all the time? I know I need to be more patient with Connie. “

“I know what sets Misty off. I’ll stop. We’lllearn to get along. I promise. Just please don’t send us away.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s not either of you.Both of you are great. All siblings fight. That is just part of growing up,”said Alice.

“Your mother wants to go back to school,” saidJohn. “She doesn’t feel we are enough for her.”

Alice glared at John. “That’s not true, and youknow it.”

“Really? Then how about you explain it to all ofus why you feel finishing your degree, and getting a job is more important thanyour family.”

“It’s not more important. It’s just that Mistywill be going off to college next year, and it won’t be that long before Conniegoes off on her own as well, and all I have to show for my life is washingdishes, cleaning house, cooking, shopping, and a thousand other meaninglesschores. I could have had a career. I could have been somebody. All myprofessors said I had remarkable talent. Instead, I have wasted the last twentyyears of my life with meaningless drudgery.”

“It hasn’t been meaningless,” said John. “Wehave two beautiful girls.”

“Right. Two girls that are almost grown and willbe leaving. Then what do I have? Nothing.”

John opened his mouth like he was going to saysomething about that remark, but closed it without saying anything.

Misty said it for him. “So, you’re saying Dadisn’t anything either?”

No one said anything for several minutes.Finally, John pushed his chair back and got up. “It’s late, what do you say wecall it a night? Grandmother Conner will be here tomorrow. After Christmas, wecan sit down together and talk it all out.”

“Um,” said Connie, “Grandmother Conner doesn’tbelieve in exchanging gifts at Christmas. Do we want to go ahead and have ourtree now?”

Misty, apparently intent on her dinner, smiledslightly. She knew the real reason was probably because her sister wanted toget started on the model airplane kit she was sure was under the tree.Swallowing her mouthful of food, Misty said, “That might be a good idea.”

“I’m tired,” said John. “It’s been a long day.We can do it early in the morning before Grandmother Conner gets here.”

Connie helped Alice clear the table and put thedishes in the sink before they both headed down the hall. Misty reached thehall in time to see her father head down and slump shouldered, come out of thebathroom and go down the hall into the guestroom instead of their parents’bedroom. She felt a sad, sinking feeling. This was really happening. Straightahead was their tree. the cheerful twinkling lights and gayly wrapped presentsunderneath struck her as out of place. There was a small flat package with acomputer game, the box with the ventage model airplane, and a book on writingfiction for Connie. A shoe box containing a wallet with a scan shield from her& Connie, and 

whatever her Mom got for their Dad. A big boxthat probably came from a department store that might contain a new ski jacket,and two other packages she had no clue what might be had her name on them.

The whole thing made her sad. She no longercared what was there. She wished she could just erase Christmas and skipstraight to New Years. ‘Is something like this why Grandmother Conner doesn’tlike to exchange gifts?’ she wondered.

_______________________________________________

                                                                                     By Sally Rosenthal

Leonard I. Tuchyner, Author

https://www.dldbooks.com/tuchyner/

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