Boomer Sacred

 By Courtney Pierce

When I think of the word sacred, images flash in my mind of religious artifacts, artwork, music, and holy sites throughout the world. But those are what we’ve been taught to us to deem as sacred.

Humans are quite magical beings, so this is the time to look deep within ourselves to find the inner light to carry forward into the New Year. Spirituality sets our moral compass, amplifies empathy for others, and inspires us to make a unique contribution in the world.

In addition to the Christmas holiday itself, this is the time of year when I take stock of all the opportunities I had to say and do the right thing. I think I did a pretty good job, but I always think I can do better. I have so much to be grateful for, especially when I look into “way back machine” of my childhood. Millions of kids didn't enjoy the safety and expression I did.

I appreciate the freedom I had to be a kid sixties, especially at Christmas. There were no smartphones or computers to dumb us down. Instead, we had television and lots of dangerous toys that tended to explode, catch fire, or warn of death should we swallow those small parts.

At the age of nine, I peeked at the presents in a special closet, excited about the potential Christmas morning bounty. In return, I spent my allowance on silly things that I thought my family would like, gag gifts mostly. My father earned the honor of being the primary victim of our wicked senses of humor. He was an easy target because he played so many practical jokes on us.

The Alpine aroma of a fresh Christmas tree filled the whole house, topped with sugary layers of baking gingerbread and chocolate chip cookies. The special holiday albums spun on the turntable, punctuated by skips and scratches: Nat King Cole, Dean Martin, and Burl Ives for my parents; and Motown, John Denver, and The Beach Boys for my older sister and me. My younger sister was just a baby, so she didn't count.

I bought my older sister The Beatles White Album. She bought me Paul Revere and the Raiders. The Turtles fit in there somewhere, but I think I bought that one for myself.

Back in 1961, we lived in a three-story Victorian in Cohasset, Massachusetts. The Cowsills were scheduled to play at the Music Circus, a local outdoor venue within walking distance from our house. There we no hotels nearby, so my parents volunteered the three bedrooms of our third floor for them to spend the night while the band was in town. In exchange, our family received tickets to the show. It all seemed so glamourous and exciting.

I still hold the Cowsills (now in their seventies with a few deceased) in high regard because they were my introduction to achieving much more in life than the norm. While their notoriety was brief and soon forgotten, the Cowsill kids held the most vulnerable time of my youth in their hands. That was over fifty years ago, but I still remember every detail--the sweet fragrance their Mom, Barbara, wore, the way Bill flipped his hair out of his eyes, and how Susan's freshly pressed dress seemed picture perfect. The Cowsills will never know how much they influenced my 28-year career in the Broadway entertainment business.

Fast forward to 2011. My vicarious experience of childhood fame shattered when I watched a disturbing documentary about the Cowsills, titled Family Band: The Cowsills Story. As it turns out, those kids were psychologically and physically abused by their father. He also stole their money, leaving the kids penniless after all their hard work and sacrifice. I had no idea what they went through on their road to momentary stardom. I had been just a star-struck kid with a big imagination. I still play their music every so often, but now I listen through different ears. As it turns out, they envied kids like me, not the other way around.

I will hold forever that time as sacred, because I learned so much from the disillusionment of it. 

I think we Boomers held many musicians in our hearts on our journey to adulthood. In many ways, rock bands connected to us in ways our parents couldn’t or wouldn’t: The Beatles, T-Rex, Yes, Crosby Stills Nash and Young, The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Moody Blues, Bob Dylan, Fleetwood Mac, and David Bowie. I could go on and on. I left out so many that graced the needle on my turntable. Some ended up as good; others vetted out as bad in retrospect. 

I saw the many different sides of famous people.

So many have passed away now, a reminder they were just human, not larger than life. Hal Prince was a legend (producer of Phantom of the Opera and many others). I never saw him without his glasses perched on his head. Micky Rooney was a delight as we talked in a littered alleyway behind a theatre in Boston. Natasha Richardson of Cabaret fame was a sweetheart, taken too young in a tragic skiing accident. Tony Bennett was shorter than me at five-foot-three. I met Davy Jones before he, too. passed away. I hate to red-pill the boomers, but I can verify The Monkey's didn't play their own instruments, The real musicians were backstage. Andrew Lloyd Webber was a bit weird, but as producers go Hal Prince is still my favorite. Paul Simon wasn't so nice. Just sayin'. . . 

All of my brushes with notable people were moments that I'll treasure for the rest of my life. 

But nothing compares to my experiences in the 1960s. It was a decade where I felt so fresh and free. Now in retirement, I want to work hard to get back those feelings, both for me, my family, and our country.

Freedom. 

The word is the most sacred to me now, because I never thought there would be a risk of losing it in my lifetime.

As we wrap up this topsy-turvy year, it's the people who've graced my world that keep me centered and focused. I could lose all my worldly goods in a heartbeat, but nothing can take away my experiences and the closeness with the people in my life.

Courtney Pierce is a fiction writer living in Kalispell, Montana with her husband and stepdaughter. She 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 Authors of the Flathead. The Executrix received the Library Journal Self-E recommendation seal.

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

Check out all of Courtney's books: 

courtney-pierce.com and windtreepress.com 

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."

Coming in 2022!

When Aubrey Cenderon moves to Montana after the death of her father, the peace and quiet of Big Sky Country becomes complicated with a knock on the door from the sheriff. An injured grizzly bear is on the loose and it must be eliminated before it kills again. The sheriff's insistence that she buy a gun for protection will present Aubrey with some serious soul-searching, because the grizzly-on-the-run is hunting her too . . . for a different reason.

Reads for the Holidays

by Courtney Pierce

This holiday season, I’ll be breaking from my decades-old tradition of poring through the inspirational stories of Charles Dickens. I’ve always embraced his tales of the human condition in my antique editions, two-columns of tiny print on whisper-thin, fragile pages.

Holiday reads are about connecting to emotions that re-calibrate our attitudes, allowing us to take stock in our abundances. In the process, we soften our scar tissue, and lift ourselves to be better people than we think we are.

At the urging of my 85-year-old Mom, I picked up a full-price hardback edition of Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens. Yes . . . I’m one of those few reader/writers who are willing to pay full pop for a keeper-book on the shelf. It’s an amazing debut novel by Ms. Owens and is one of those rare first efforts that became a runaway bestseller. When I read the summary on the front flap, l worried that it might be depressing. Who wants a downer of a book around the holidays? But now I understand its success, and it wasn't just a new writer's beginner's luck.

Ms. Owens's writing style and voice in this book are unique. The combination completely captures the culture of “swamp folk” in North Carolina’s Outer Banks. Like many colorful locations in that part of our great country, the demographics, history, and topography shape the attitudes and beliefs of their inhabitants. Having myself grown up on the East Coast, both in the north and nearly south, this book hit home for me on many levels. Mom picked another winner that makes me want to work harder at being a successful writer.

Six-year-old Kya, the youngest of five kids, is living in a shack in the remote marsh country. Her alcoholic father has driven away her mother. Kya’s siblings all leave too, one-by-one, to get away from their poverty-stricken life. When her father is killed, there is only Kya, left alone to fend for herself. The long arm of the law and authorities don’t often reach to people in the marsh. A reader can’t get through the first six chapters without appreciating the gift of family and having enough to eat. I found myself so hungry that I gobbled up every word.

This is a story of survival against all odds, jumping up to touch bottom. Little Kya not only learns to survive, but to thrive with ingenuity, purpose, and instinct. The things we take for granted in lifeꟷeducation, socialization, electricity, the clothes on our backꟷare huge leaps for little Kya. And survive she does, even after being accused of murder. She’s a vulnerable target, because Kya is considered to be merely swamp trash by the locals.

As I read this book, I am reminded of the poignant real-life story of Frank McCourt as told in his memoir, Angela’s Ashes. Even after 23 years since it's publication, I can never erase the scene where young Frank scours the Irish pub for discarded fish and chips wrappers just to lick the grease. The settings of these two books are thousands of miles apart, but the refusal to crumble under adverse circumstances makes the world much smaller. We who have so much, eat so much, whine so much are humbled by these stories. They inspire us to give away more than we take, even if for a short while. Then we retreat back into our comfortable ways until the next book inspires us.

Maybe I haven’t abandoned my beloved Dickens after all. I will see his messages everywhere this holiday season, holding up a mirror to the selfish, divided, and mean-spirited. And in their reflection, should they choose to see it, is a countenance that projects benevolence, unity, and kindness.

I’m in the early stages of drafting my seventh book, Big Sky Talk. The research phase of this process is both arduous and satisfying. I'll be delving into Native American folklore in order to weave authenticity into the prose. My goal is to sit down with tribal elders to discuss the spiritual meaning of reincarnation among the Blackfoot, Kootenai, and Salish tribes, which are prevalent here in Montana. Access to this wisdom must be earned . . . and so I shall work hard. I think I may have discovered my new Dickens.

Lessons heard. Lessons learned.

I have so much to be thankful for this holiday season. I now live in one of the most beautiful places in the world: Kalispell, Montana. Snow-capped mountains and abundant wildlife surround me at every turn. We fish and hunt to fill our freezer for the long winter ahead. We hike to remain healthy. A loving family wraps me in their arms by the glow of a wood stove.

And most important, I still have my freedom.

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."