Regrets—Maybe Yes, Maybe No!

by Courtney Pierce

Being a child of the sixties, it’s a no-brainer to recall a litany of bonehead antics from my past that I might want to change. A few of those teenage misbehaves, like sneaking over to the boys’ camp from the girls’ camp to skinny dip, would be tough to let go. I was ten years old in 1969—too young to go to concerts and too old for my Easy-Bake Oven. I made hippie clothes for my Barbie and listened to the Beatles, Paul Revere and the Raiders, Herman’s Hermits, and The Cowsills ad nauseum. Compared to kids today, I was a goody two shoes. If I could change anything, it would be that I would’ve stuck out my neck to partake in riskier adventures.

When my family lived in New Jersey in the early 70s, I loved every minute of ditching class to ride the train to the end of line and back. I'd quietly stare out the window and assess the passengers reading their newspapers, making up stories about their lives. In those days, there were no cell phones or selfies on social media to bust me. As long as I was home in time for supper and maintained good grades, that was good enough for my parents.

My older sister experienced all the cool stuff—like snagging concert tickets. She would sneak out to see The Rolling Stones, The Doors, and Led Zeppelin. Even Iron Butterfly was on her roster of sneak-away concerts. Best of all, she “experienced” Jimi Hendrix and saw The Who smashing their equipment. Of course, I stuck up for her to avoid the inevitable sibling retaliation.

I was so jealous! Gutless me wouldn’t dare risk getting in trouble. And besides, the cost of the ticket was beyond my reach, even at the outrageous price of $9.50. 

To make up for that void, I entered into a thirty-year career in the touring Broadway and concert business, earning my chops in theater basements to settle the shows with the producers. Extremely glamorous—not! I could see anyone I wanted, and often did, but I rarely enjoyed the show. It was work, not pleasure. Instead, I took all those Broadway stars for granted and worked into the wee hours before having to get on a plane home the next morning. Looking back, I should've sat to enjoy the show like everyone else, without a critical eye on what wasn’t perfect.

I met all kinds of stars, but most of them were just talented, average people who happened to get famous. Take Micky Rooney, for instance. I sat on a concrete step with him in the alley behind the Colonial Theater in Boston. His one-man show was his last hoorah. We talked about all kinds of stuff, but mostly he bitched about how horrible it was being famous. Lack of privacy and all.

Now that so many of my childhood icons are dying, the losses smart in a way that I can’t explain. These people were never supposed to get old and die—Lou Reed, David Bowie, Roy Orbison, Johnny Cash, George Harrison, Tom Petty. They were all supposed to be frozen in time until I died, not them. I wish I’d been a pain-in-the-butt and made my sister take me with her to all those concerts. There were so many wasted opportunities that I now regret.

A sense of urgency hits me when I slide a CD into the player, and I’m compelled to say, “God, I wish I’d seen this band in their heyday.” It’s not the same when the bands attempt that last cash-in by going on a “Farewell, Farewell-Again Tour.” A seventy-year-old rocker replicating their youthful moves is more comical than entertaining. They aren’t quite how I remembered them.

Traveling Wilburys

A big exception was Tom Petty. Two years ago, we took the plunge to see Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers at Red Rocks near Denver. An amazing talent in an equally amazing venue. One month later he was found dead. That Red-Rocked us to our core, and left us wishing we’d seen The Travelling Wilburys, a compilation band whose members were Tom Petty, Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Roy Orbison, and Jeff Lynn. Now, only Jeff Lynn is left of the entire iconic group.

Photo: Washington Post

Several musicians and actors shaped my youth. I hold tight to all those CDs and DVDs, because they hold a piece of me. I remember licking my lips every few seconds to be like Doris Day. I attempted to tap dance like Shirley Temple and binge-watched Alfred Hitchcock movies just to spot his cameo appearances. And didn’t every kid want a dad like Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird?

Most of all, watching those movies and listening to the lyrics on those albums shaped my writing. Without them, I doubt I would've had the imagination to write any of the novels I do today.

Photo: Micah Brooks

Courtney Pierce is a fiction writer living in Kalispell, Montana with her husband, stepdaughter, and their brainiac cat, Princeton. Courtney writes for the baby boomer audience. She spent 28 years as an executive in the entertainment industry and used her time in a theater seat to create stories that are filled with heart, humor, and mystery. She studied craft and storytelling at the Attic Institute and has completed the Hawthorne Fellows Program for writing and publishing. Active in the writing community, Courtney is a board member of the Northwest Independent Writers Association and on the Advisory Council of the Independent Publishing Resource Center. She is a member of Willamette Writers, Pacific Northwest Writers Association, and She Writes. The Executrix received the Library Journal Self-E recommendation seal.

Audiobook now Available!

Check out all of Courtney's books: 

courtney-pierce.com and

windtreepress.com 

Print and E-books are available through most major online retailers, including Amazon.com.

Available Now!
Book 3 of the
Dushane Sisters
Trilogy

The Dushane Sisters Trilogy concludes with Indigo Legacy, available now. There's love in the air for Olivia and Woody, but will family intrigue get in the way? Ride along for the wild trip that starts in a New York auction house and peaks in a mansion on Boston's Beacon Hill. 

The Dushane sisters finally get to the truth about their mother.

New York Times best-selling author Karen Karbo says, "Courtney Pierce spins a madcap tale of family grudges, sisterly love, unexpected romance, mysterious mobsters and dog love. Reading Indigo Lake is like drinking champagne with a chaser of Mountain Dew. Pure Delight."

Could I have just one more. . .

by Diana McCollum

As many of you have said, I wouldn't change anything I've experienced in my life because all the  good and bad have made me the person I am today.

My one regret, I wish that I could have just one more day with my mom before she went into the lost her memory completely. The last 2 weeks at the memory care home she wasn't present, she was confused and upset all the time.  The last two months of her life she was slipping into full fledged dementia, Alzheimers and needed 24 hr care. If I could have that day with mom, I would tell her I was sorry I didn't realize she had been ill for so long. It took a hospital stay and the doctor telling me mom's scan showed Alzheimers and she needed 24 hr care.

Since mom lived with us, the changes were subtle. Just mom being mom. Looking back I can see she was falling into dementia for the past few years.

Hindsight is always a few minutes too late, isn't it?

The past couple of years before she died I sometimes got frustrated with her, she lived with us. I tried not to show it, but once in a while I couldn't help it. She had a couple months when she bought mop and glow for the floors every time we went to a store. Forgetting things like the garbage disposal she turned on then walked away from. Things like that, not normal. If I had only known then that she was already suffering from Alzheimers I would have been more patient, more understanding.

An example of my frustration: Mom and I were looking for a parking spot at the grocery store about a year ago. An obese woman was slowly crossing in front of us. Mom says, "honk the horn, maybe she'll walk faster!".  I said, "Mom! She can't walk any faster." I could literally feel my blood pressure rise. My frustration came from mom having no empathy for the woman who was obviously distressed. And Mom used a walker and walked very slow herself.

Grief has been one of my closest friends since December, when mom passed.

Mother's Day loomed in the future and I found myself becoming more anxious. My sister, Sarah and I decided a good way to deal with this first Mother's Day with no 'Mother', was to spread love and joy to others.

So we surprised some family members with 'Mothers' day cards and gifts.

As Lynn said in her post, share the love. In doing our new Mother's Day tradition we made our daughters, nieces, friends, and daughter-in-laws happy. None of them were expecting anything from us, but their joy brought us happiness and joy too, on what would have been a sad day.

My motto is now spread the love. Smile at the grouchy looking person in the grocery line, maybe that will make their day.

If you could have one more day to talk to someone who passed, who would it be?

Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda!

By: Marcia King-Gamble

www.lovemarcia.com


With age comes wisdom, or so they say. While it sounds trite, the older I  get, the more I realize that  whomever came up with that saying was exactly on point.

I've had few regrets, but will admit to a  misstep  or two. Mistakes are lessons in life and things we should learn and grow from. I view them as learning points or turning points. That said, looking back, perhaps I would have chosen  a different mate. Though I will admit to having  a lot of fun with my romantic partner growing up.

The signs were all there from the beginning. He appeared to be loving and caring, and some might even perceive him as being on his way up. But the man I thought would make a good life partner never really grew up.

Now get one thing straight, this is not about bashing my ex;  a brilliant man with a lot of potential. This is about straight talk.  We are all ultimately responsible  for the choices we make. At that time he seemed the right one. The red flags were there from the beginning, but when you're younger you ignore them, or  figure with time things will change. 

Funny thing is the vivacious partier can grow up to be an alcoholic. The job hopper who thinks he's smarter than the boss, that no one can criticise, may end up  making poor decisions that affect your life.  Come bill-paying time, when he falls short, he expects you to pick up the slack for expenses you know nothing about.

Then there's the frivolous spender who insists you have designer clothing and purses when you don't even want them.  Some see you as pampered and spoiled. When wisdom kicks in it's a case of not having your  priorities in order.

As you grow older you have a better understanding of yourself, and what's important to you in life. When the telltale signs pop up, you run in the opposite direction.

Sure, if I could turn back the clock, perhaps I would have chosen a more responsible partner. Someone who was more focused, and understood the importance of working toward common goals. I would have chosen someone less needy, and less dependent on me for life planning. And I would definitely have chosen someone less emotionally fragile.

But all in all, given this small regret, my life has turned out well compared to most. I've grown and learned from these  experiences. And now I have a better feel for the  kind of partner who works best with me.

Daily I put it out to the universe that a smart, emotionally strong man will come along. Someone who will come to the table secure in himself, who I can respectfully disagree with, without him becoming angry or out of control. I pray and hope for a planner, and someone who recognizes that adversity can happen in the blink of an eye, and so you save for a rainy day.

I hope for someone not broken by life, and one willing to embrace the ups  and downs that happen. One who sees life as an adventure, and views me as the partner that enhances his life not makes it better.  Had I known what I needed earlier on, my life might have turned out differently. Not necessarily better, but certainly gone  off in a different direction.

The question is would I have grown?

About Marcia King-Gamble

Romance writer, Marcia King-Gamble originally hails from a sunny Caribbean island where the sky and ocean are the same mesmerizing shade of blue. This travel industry executive and current world traveler has spent most of life in the United States. A National Bestselling author, Marcia has penned over 34 books and 8 novellas. Her free time is spent at the gym, traveling to exotic locales, and caring for her animal family.

Visit Marcia at www.lovemarcia.com or “friend” her on Facebook:http://bit.ly/1MlnrIS

Be sure to join her mailing list.

If I could turn back time...

(Apologies for that potential ear-worm.)

If I could change one thing in my past, what is it and why?

That’s a loaded question and could open up several cans of worms, or cases of cans of worms. Sure, I have regrets, but too few to mention, hehe. Also, I fear that if I changed one thing in my past, the ripple effect would change the rest of my life to this point, and I rather like where I am right now, geographically and personally.

So, rather than dwell on what “might have been”, I’ll bemoan a decidedly First World decision.

I wish we’d purchased different kitchen appliances for our new house.

Exhibit A - the fridge.

I won’t share the brand name because this isn’t a review. At decision-making time we bought what is called a French door, bottom freezer fridge. Our kitchen has an island and we didn’t want a regular-sized fridge door getting in the way of traffic. The French doors are smaller and don’t protrude as far into the room. That aspect of our fridge is perfect. I can be rummaging for … vegetables, yeah, and let’s call it, ah, fruit, and Mr. S can breeze right past. But a smaller door means smaller door bins, and all those things we used to store in the door no longer fit. Case in point - the butter keeper that won’t accommodate a pound of butter.

So, given that the fridge will be the bane of my existence until it wears out, if I could change one thing in my past, I’d purchase a different model because then my life would be PERFECT <grin>. *gives the side-eye to the teensy drawer under the oven.

In other news, my latest book was released last week – whee!! My heroine wishes she'd purchased a different microwave oven.

Unemployed photojournalist Raynor Elliot stops at a bakery near the famous Deerbourne Inn. Not only does he get a lead on a job but the bakery’s owner is that awkward kid he knew in high school, only now she has fabulous curves and an irreverent sense of humor. The cozy bakery, with its aroma of sugar, vanilla and spice, has more to offer than tasty cookies.

Fiona MacLeod has been plagued for years by the need to make amends for telling The Big Lie. When the lie’s victim strolls into her bakery with his icy blue stare and killer charm, she feels like she’s standing too close to a hot oven.

Between running her bakery and frosting cupcakes for the Mad River Garden Party, she's pretty sure she's falling in love with this infuriating, sexy man. Can Fiona dredge up the courage to confess, face the consequences, and hope for forgiveness? 

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