Shtick this! Chandlerizing My Life.

 

  Once I'd made the firm decision to leave teaching, so I could dedicate myself full time to writing, I knew I also needed to make a plan both to ease myself into a life-changing routine and to make that routine a permanent fixture in my life. During the thirty years in which I was teaching, I was also trying to write because it's always been my passion and my one true calling, but teaching consumed my life. Add being a mom and all that entails into the mix, and there often truly wasn't time -- the needed time -- to write.

I've always told my students that we make time for what matters to us. I would tell them this when they would give me their myriad excuses as to why they didn't get something done or why they weren't at one-act practice or why they couldn't be counted on to help run the concessions stand, etc. So, if they couldn't make the time to do the things they were supposed to be doing, that showed, by and large, that those things didn't really matter to them because we all have a finite amount of hours in the day; yet some people manage to do a lot with those hours while others do fairly little.

Even though I would tell my students that and even though I was highly productive in my job and extremely reliable for completing projects and being where I was supposed to be, when it came to the one real thing that I wanted to make the time for, I really wasn't doing that. I would try, believe me, I would definitely try, but the demands of my teaching career simply kept interfering with the time I wanted to use for writing. By the time I'd get home after a full day of teaching followed by coaching one-act or directing a play late into the evening, there were days it was already ten o'clock or later, and I still needed to go to bed to get enough sleep to wake up and repeat the cycle.

Needless to say, my writing life languished. I did manage to write some, of course, but there was no regularity to it, and that's what I needed. That's what my writing needed. That's what it needs now, and that's what I'm finally giving it.

So, when I knew for certainty that I was going to retire from teaching, I wrote the quote pictured above onto one of three light blue journals. In those journals, I record what I accomplish for my writing career every day. The quote is to remind me that sometimes it's okay to not accomplish a lot; as long as I'm actually accomplishing something every day. That way, I do not stop.

Since I'm a goal setter, I decided to adapt what I call the "Chandler approach" from a character on my second favorite TV series, "Friends." Oddly enough, today, the day I'd planned to write this blog post, the very episode in which Ross uses this approach on Chandler was airing during the time I sit down to lunch. In it, Chandler is freaking out, as he often does, and as I often do, because he's overwhelmed by the massive change in his life that he is facing on his wedding day. All he can see is the vast scariness of the future, so his friend, Ross, manages to get him to focus on the little, easy to manage, steps leading up to the wedding.   

Chandler wants to get married. He wants it very badly, but he's overwhelmed. By doing one small thing at a time, he manages to get himself to the altar and get married. First, he takes a shower. Nothing scary there. It's a routine he's familiar with. Next, he gets himself to the wedding locale. Then, he puts on his tuxedo. These are the steps shown in the episode, but one could break them down even more minutely. Eventually, his goal is met, and he's married. He can now use this approach to help him deal with future scary events because there will be many, many more. After all, he's now a married man.

Anyway, what does this have to do with writing? Well, I have so many goals and hopes for what I want to write that it's extremely overwhelming. Where do I start? How can I possibly accomplish everything I want to do? As with any large task, sometimes we completely avoid doing it because it is just too massive to imagine ever finishing it. 

I want to write and be published and read. I've already accomplished that to a small degree with The Clearwater House and State of Georgia . . . and Other Writings as well as with my regular column, feature articles, two blogs, and other things, but now I want to make it my career, and I'm going it alone. I don't have a boss telling me what I have to do, I don't have state standards to adhere to, I don't have classrooms of kids expecting me to show up over and over with new material, I don't have parents looking over my shoulder to see if I'm doing a good job, and I don't have a place I absolutely have to be by a certain time each day.

I'm on my own. 

That's both the most thrilling thing for me and the most terrifying. The thrilled part of me is ready and raring to go every day. The terrified part needs some structure. That's why I decided to Chandlerize my life.

In the journal, I must record one thing I do every day to move my writing career forward. One thing, at the very least. Every single day. It can be writing an email to a library director, writing another chapter (or even just 100 words) of my novel-in-progress, writing my column, writing another blog post, writing down the many story ideas I always seem to get while showering, editing one of my two finished books, replying to emails regarding my writing, promoting my writing in some form, etc. 

Once I've managed to do that one thing, I usually do more -- some days, I do so much that I only stop when total exhaustion sets in. Whatever I accomplish concerning my writing life, though, goes in the journal. The journal then becomes a physical proof of how far I've come since I began, so when the demon called Doubt shows up, I can open the journal and read through what I've done so far. Within a few pages, Doubt has moved on to bother someone else, and I'm back to moving my writing career forward.

Chandlerizing is the same as saying "take baby steps" to complete something or using the "one drop at a time to fill the bucket" approach, but I like to think of it this way because I've always related to Chandler. He loves to make people laugh, and it bothers him when they don't. He and I use a lot of sarcasm.   

He worries about things he can't control. He hates his job and really wants to be doing something else (I related when I was teaching; now, I'm good). He hates having photos taken of him, and so do I. He's incredibly handsome, and, well, I'm incredibly humble. Ha! Thanks to my Chandlerizing technique, could I BE any more productive? Well, yes, I'm sure I could, but it has helped me be productive every single day, and that's what counts right now.

Maybe I'll dedicate a future book to him, but first I'll have to write that book. One day at a time. One piece at a time. One word at a time. Chandlerize!!!

Shtick This! Retired? Yes and No.

Ever since I retired from teaching a month ago to focus on full-time writing, countless people have asked me things like -- "How ya like retirement?" or "Getting bored yet?" or even "Ready to go back to teaching?" The answers to those basically go like this -- "I love it, but I left teaching to write full time, so I'm still working." and "Hell, no. I've never been bored a day in my life (except during teaching in-services -- talk about a slow, torturous death)." and "Absolutely not. No way. Never. Hell no. Ask me again in ten years, and we'll see if I feel any differently."

So, yes, I did, in fact, retire from teaching after 30 years of teaching and coaching junior high and high school students. A few people in my town don't actually know that because absolutely no mention of it was made anywhere by anyone but me. (Yes, I'm a tad pissy about that, but who cares?) I guess they were as happy to get rid of me as I was to leave teaching. Now, don't get me wrong -- I enjoyed teaching (in fact, if teaching were only about teaching, I'd probably still be doing it), but I hated all the other aspects of the job that don't involve teaching, and I was ready to leave that all behind. I don't want to parent my students, I don't want to police them, I don't want to be their therapists, and I don't want to know anything about their sex lives. I just wanted to teach them how to speak Spanish and how to appreciate language and literature. That's not enough anymore. And don't even get me started on the mind-boggling constantly changing technology that I can't even begin to keep up with. So, I left teaching to do the one thing I've always wanted to do -- write.

In the month I've been doing this, I've had people ask me what I'm doing with myself. I answer, "I'm writing." Sometimes I get a blank stare. Other times I get a "You write?" I sigh at that reaction because I've been a columnist for almost twelve years, and I have two published books, so far. Others politely ask me what I write, so I tell them. Some listen and seem interested, and some listen and then seem truly puzzled as to how I just sit down and make up stuff. Anyway, let's just say it's a transition for people in my town to stop thinking of me as a teacher and start thinking of me as a writer, and I'm sure many of them never will make that transition. That's okay, but what's not okay is this sentiment that I'm not going to have anything to do with my time now that I'm not teaching.

Believe me, I don't have enough hours in the day for all the stuff I both want to do and need to do. Aside from writing the column, I'm finishing three novels, writing feature stories for a newspaper, writing this and a second blog, attempting to learn how to market myself on social media, reaching out to libraries and bookstores in the hopes of gaining some speaking/reading opportunities along with places to sell my books, and I'm constantly churning out new story ideas that may or may not ever be written.

Additionally, I have a LOT of hobbies that I like to make time to do as often as possible. Here are a few of them:

I read. Every. Single. Day. Even if I only get in ten minutes before falling asleep at night, no day is complete for me if it didn't include reading; however, now that I'm structuring my daily life around literature, I try to read and study past great writers every morning. Currently, I'm making my way through Ralph Waldo Emerson, and then I'll move on to Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. I learned that I'm a Transcendentalist at heart a couple years ago, and I'm trying to make up for all the years I spent unaware of the likes of Emerson and Thoreau. I also buy and own many, many books. My collection is quite large and will surely grow much larger in the coming years.

I now paint. I started doing watercolor painting a year ago, and I really enjoy it. I also make bookmarks which showcase my painting as well as my writing website (tammymarshallauthor.wordpress.com) which is written on the back of each bookmark. Currently, I have a small obsession with painting cacti as you can tell by the photos of my most recent bookmarks.

I cross stitch. I've done it for years and have many finished pieces displayed around the house. The one I'm attempting to complete now is of the Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona. Sadly, I began it years ago and still haven't finished it -- the church itself, long left unfinished after the death of its architect, Antonio Gaudi, will probably be completed before I ever get mine done, but that's okay.

I do yoga every morning. During the school years, I only managed to get a quick set of stretches in each morning before heading off to work, but now I'm slowly working my way up to longer sessions and hope to consistently be doing 20-30 minutes each morning by the end of the summer.

I like to walk, preferably outside with the dog, so I'm trying to factor in a walk, even a short one, in the evenings. So far, making this a solid habit has eluded me, but I'll keep trying. I also like to take photos while I walk. I think my uncle, Paul Filsinger, is with me when I walk because I notice things now that I think only he would have seen. (He passed away last October, and you can read about him in this same blog if you didn't see it then.) 

While I may no longer be teaching Spanish, I do plan to keep myself up on it, so I do a mini-lesson each day. I'm also learning and perfecting my Italian, so I also do a mini-lesson of that language. I try to read something in one of the languages each week, too. 

Since I'm bilingual, and trying to become multilingual, I love to travel. Naturally, I can't do that on a daily basis, but factoring in the time to travel is an important part of my future plans. Right after the school year finished, I did go on a short vacation to Missouri. You can read about it in my other blog, readrideandroam.blogspot.com, if you are interested. Future trips will include return visits to Spain, Italy, and Mexico, as well as to new places abroad and here in the States.

Additionally, I love to swim, and I would really like to find a way to implement some lap swimming on a regular basis. I love riding my motorcycle, and I look forward to being able to do that on days when I'd normally be stuck in school. I also love doing puzzles, both the word kind and the kind that have 2,000-3,000 pieces. I want to get back into writing and performing stand-up comedy, I have a pile of stuff I want to add to some scrapbooks, and I sell Mary Kay to a few customers. 

I have other hobbies as well, but by now, it should be clear that there really aren't enough hours in the day for me to do even half the things I enjoy doing. It should also be clear that I was serious when I said that I'm never bored, especially if I have a book, a writing journal, a word puzzle, or just my imagination to keep me occupied during things that might otherwise bore me.

Let's not forget that I have family and friends with whom I want to spend some time. Kim and I will have been together for seven years by this time next week. He's my rock and the reason I was able to retire early from teaching. I've never experienced the kind of support he gives me, and I'm so thankful for him every day.

My kids are both grown up, but I still love spending time with them. My son will be coaching all three sports this coming school year, and I plan to attend as many of those events as possible. My daughter will be moving to Tennessee to get her Master's in paleontology to fulfill the dream she first had as a seventh grader after I took her to Ashfall Fossil Beds that summer. Of course, I will be visiting her there often. 

My parents are nearby, I have family and friends both near and far who I want to see more often, and I hope to make many new friends in the literary world as my experience and my circles grow there. 

So, yes, I've retired from teaching, and I'm loving it. No, I'm absolutely not bored. I do not plan to return to teaching or even to sub, for now. I am writing every day. Sometimes I'm writing part of a book, sometimes I'm editing, sometimes I'm writing a column, sometimes I'm writing a newspaper article, sometimes I'm writing a blog post, sometimes I'm writing stuff that's only meant for me to see, and sometimes I'm writing ideas for future things to write. I am now a writer. Retired teacher. Full-time writer and author. 100% happy.

Shtick This! 2020

 To say that this year has been horrible is an understatement. We've all be negatively impacted by the storm of crap that 2020 has brought upon us. The very beginning of October hit me hard -- I lost my beloved uncle, Paul Filsinger, and my dear aunt, Karen Hahlbeck, within a matter of days. Paul and Karen were brother and sister, and my mom's only remaining siblings. Paul died from the ravages of COVID-19, and Karen was essentially a victim of it, too, since she wasted away in a nursing home waiting for the day when things would ease up, so she could see her family again. 

I wrote both of their obituaries, and we held a double funeral ceremony for them. Surreal, to say the least. Paul, though, was incredibly special to me and to so many other people. He was only 8 years older than I am at the time of his death, and he was 12 years younger than my mom, the sister that he was closest in age to. He was really more like a brother to me than an uncle, and I adored him greatly. I miss him daily, and I will for the rest of my life. I'm angry about his death because of the way he died but also because his death deprived so many people of a truly wonderful person as well as the photographic talent he possessed that had enriched so many people's lives. I'm going to share his obituary here along with the eulogy I wrote and read at his funeral.

Paul Leroy Filsinger, you are dearly missed.

Obituary first:

        Paul Leroy Filsinger was born November 19, 1959 in Norfolk, Nebraska, to Raymond and Eunice (Meyer) Filsinger. He was baptized and confirmed at Grace Lutheran Church in Norfolk, and he graduated from Norfolk Senior High School in 1978. He spent his formative years learning and doing the things that would become his lifelong passions of camping, hunting, fishing, taking photos, driving classic cars, and befriending everyone he ever encountered.

On May 29, 1981, he married Cheryl Cox in Norfolk at St. Mary’s Catholic Church. To this union was born one son, John Paul Filsinger. He and Cheryl later divorced. His second marriage was to Shannon Mcphillamy on June 1, 1996, in Neligh, Nebraska, in a backyard ceremony at the home of his sister and brother-in-law, Lois and Ron Marshall. Paul adopted Shannon’s children, Brandon and Kylie. Eventually, this marriage dissolved, too. On October 20, 2011, Paul married Susan Jendrzejewski in a sunset ceremony on a beach in Florida. Their marriage was short-lived, but their friendship remained strong, and at the time of his death, Paul held a special place in his heart for each of his wives.

The most special place, though, was reserved for his fiancée Brenda Moeller, to whom he became engaged on December 24, 2014. In the fall of 2016, Paul moved to Shelton to live with Brenda. There, he gained a special friend in Brenda’s little dog, Baxter, who he took with him on many car rides in Paul’s beloved black Ford Mustang.

Prior to that, Paul lived his entire life in Norfolk. He had a variety of jobs, but for many years he worked in the print shop of Affiliated Foods. He also started a part-time side photography  business which he called First Impressions. He specialized in engagements, weddings, and senior photos. When Affiliated closed, he expanded his photography business to Shelton and pursued his passion full time. He also enrolled in Central Community College at Hastings to further study photography.

Living in Shelton afforded Paul ample opportunities to hone his photography skills on the Platte River during the annual Sandhills Crane migration, and his photographs of the birds in flight and at rest during sunrise and sunset are truly majestic. Paul’s first and abiding love, though, was the Black Hills of South Dakota. He spent many summers camping there alone and with family, and his knowledge of their history and Native American culture was staggering. He loved to photograph the wildlife as well as the historical places in the Black Hills, and he even published a collection of those photos.

Paul never met a person that didn’t become his friend. He loved to talk, and his knowledge on all sorts of subjects was so immense that he could converse for hours with anyone about anything. His family was near and dear to him, and he took every opportunity to spend time with them camping, hunting, playing cards, telling stories, sharing jokes, riding motorcycles, and many other things. Paul will forever be remembered for his wit, his wisdom, his kindness, his photographic skill, and his love.

He is survived by his fiancée, Brenda Moeller, of Shelton, Nebraska; his children, John (Alyssia) Filsinger and Brandon Filsinger of Lincoln, Nebraska, and Kylie (Andrew) Cleveland, of Rapid City, South Dakota; his grandchildren, Alexis and Aubrie Filsinger, Bentley, Kylar, Emersyn, Heaven, and Nevaeh Cleveland; his sister and brother-in-law, Lois and Ron Marshall; his other brother-in-law, Jerry Hahlbeck; his niece, Tammy Marshall (s.o. Kim Erickson); his nephews, Troy (Theresa) Hahlbeck, Gary (Sherrie) Hahlbeck, and Kevin (Anissa) Marshall; various great-nieces and great-nephews; numerous Filsinger and Meyer cousins; and everyone else who ever considered him as family.

Paul passed away on October 1, 2020, at Kearney Good Samaritan Hospital after an extended illness. He was sixty years old. Paul was preceded in death years ago by his parents, Raymond and Eunice Filsinger, and his sister, Judy Filsinger. Three days after Paul died, his other sister, Karen Hahlbeck, passed away, too.  

 His memorial service will be at 10:00 a.m. on October 17, 2020, at Snider Memorial Funeral Home in Clearwater.

Paul's much-loved Ford Mustang.

The photo I reference in the following eulogy. Paul's burial site is directly on the other side of Mom's car.

Paul's eulogy:

Get comfortable. Paul loved to talk, so I’m going to talk about him for a bit.

Talented.

If I had to sum up in one word my wonderful Uncle Paul, it would be that. He was talented.

Paul had an artist’s eye and a poet’s soul. I think it was because he damaged one of his eyes when he was a teenager that he grew to appreciate the clarity with which he saw the world out of his good eye. A camera simply became a natural extension of that eye and brought the world and all its beauty into sharp focus for him. His photographs, especially those of the past few years, were utter masterpieces as his focus sharpened even more upon the early morning and early evening skies, capturing amazing sunrises and sunsets over the Platte River and other places. I will always remember the many drives we took in the Black Hills while camping with Paul and his kids when Paul, while driving, would spot a lone mountain goat perched high above us or a herd of bison or elk far off in a valley. It never failed that when I’d ride with Dad instead of Paul, we didn’t spot anything. Then, when we’d stop, Paul would ask us if we saw the eagle or the ram or the deer, and we’d say “No!” Of course we didn’t because we didn’t have Paul’s talent for spotting animals.

Not only did he use his animal-spotting talent on mountain drives but he also used it to capture wonderful photographs of bald eagles up close, of the sandhills cranes in flight and roosting on the river, of butterflies perched on flowers, of a black bear, of a spotted fawn frozen and returning his gaze, of a little chipmunk in a tree, and of countless bison and elk. He also put his animal-spotting talent to good use on his many hunts with his favorite hunting buddy, his son John. Paul gained a love of fishing from his father and turned that love into a love of hunting that he passed on to John who has himself turned that love into an intense passion. Paul often talked enthusiastically about the great trips he took with John, including one in Colorado where John bagged an elk whose head now hangs in John and Alyssia’s basement and, I’m told, has been dubbed Grandpa Paul. 

Paul used his talent to capture many happy moments for people from senior photos to engagement pictures to weddings and so much more. I, personally, have walls in my house covered with family photos that Paul took. His wonderful clarity of focus and knack at arranging his subjects for the perfect shot have added joy to many walls and photo albums across the state and beyond. He’d even started to gain the attention of Nebraskaland magazine as well as others, and he was really proud of that. I, in turn, was proud of him. He deserved to be recognized for his talent. 

Fun-loving

That would be another word to describe Paul. Paul was the big brother I never had as he was closer in age to me, and to my cousins, Troy and Gary, than he was to his own sisters, so he and I hung out a lot when we were kids. Mom loves to tell the story of Paul playing hide and seek with me one time at our house, and he was seriously winning the game because I couldn’t find him anywhere. Finally, Grandma, his mom, suggested we look in the clothes hamper. Mom said there was no way he could fit in there, but, yep, he was in there -- under all the clothes. I recall many times his fun-loving ways got him into trouble with his mom, but she couldn’t stay mad at him. Nobody could stay mad at Paul. He had the magical sweet charm about him and an impish grin to accompany the twinkle in his eyes. Grandma would yell “Paul,” and he would yell back “Mom,” and they’d repeat that a few times until she’d give up in exasperation. I will forever hear his voice saying “Mom” in that mockingly good-natured way he had. 

Many of you will remember a much-loved 70’s sit-com called “Happy Days” and the incredibly cool and likeable character named Fonzie. To me, Paul was Fonzie. He exuded coolness without even trying, he looked good in a leather coat and jeans, he wore his dark hair a little longer than most (when he still had the hair to do it), he had a heart of gold, he was cool and collected in every situation (or at least appeared to be so), and he could always be counted on to come through for you in any crisis. He also had a vulnerable side and wasn’t afraid to show it to people he trusted (his Cunninghams), and, as we well know, Paul was an incurable romantic just like Fonzie. Even the name of the sit-com fit Paul because when he was around, everyone around him was happy. The days I spent with Paul were truly Happy Days.

I can easily split the fun-loving word into its two parts, which also describe Paul. 

It was never boring when Paul was there; he could make any experience fun just by injecting his attitude and outlook into it. When I fell while ice skating and got the wind knocked out of me, his smiling face appeared above me, assuring me I’d be fine. When he whipped an accidental cookie on a frozen Main Street in Norfolk with Gary and me in his Chevy Nova after a day of roller skating and we ended up facing the wrong way on Main Street as well as facing the waiting police cruiser, his charm and winning ways smooth-talked the cop out of a ticket -- as far as I remember. When he became a full-fledged adult, he never lost his fun-loving ways. I’ll never forget one very windy day, Paul and my boyfriend, Kim, and I took a long motorcycle ride up to Fort Randall and back. While I had a moment of fear that one of us might be blown off the dam, motorcycle and all, Paul took it all in stride and just smiled. I’ll also always remember the day years ago when he climbed into the go-cart in the Black Hills with my daughter, Sam, because she was too young to drive it alone. They zipped around that track at warp speed, and every time they passed me, Paul had the biggest grin on his face, and Sam had a blast even though Uncle Paul was squishing her. 

He was the most loving person imaginable, and everyone he met became basically “family” to him even though he already had a very expansive family in the Filsinger clan. He lovingly adopted Brandon and Kylie, and he thrilled at being Grandpa to Kylie and Andrew’s five children in Rapid City as well as to Lexie and Aubrie in Lincoln. He never had a bad word to say about anyone, and if you were ever his friend, you were his friend forever.

Wise

This would be the final word that I would attribute to Paul. He knew so much about so many things, and how he gained that wisdom was always a bit of mystery to me. Sometimes, we were pretty sure he was just making stuff up, but he did it with such conviction that you believed everything he said. Mostly, he was a self-taught guy. He could converse long and knowledgeably about almost anything, but he especially loved talking about the old West, Native Americans, politics and political figures, and classic cars. I wish his grandchildren had had more time with him to gain from his stories and his wisdom. I wish we all had. I often thought he would have made a wonderful history teacher, especially an American history teacher, where he could have wowed his students each day with story after story about anything historical or otherwise. Speaking as a teacher, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have got anything else done, but his students would have adored him, as we all did.  

When Paul did need some advice, though, he’d always turn to his sister, my mom, Lois. She was closest in age to him, and she kind of became his second mom after Grandma Eunice died when he was 27. Not only did Lois defend him from bullies when he was a little boy, but she also took him in whenever he needed it in his adult years. She likes to say that he often came to her for advice, but he rarely followed it. Who could have imagined that she’d lose both her baby brother and her big sister within days of each other. I know she will miss his long phone calls, his many visits, and, simply, his company. My dad loved when Paul would visit and they could talk because Paul could carry a conversation about anything, and Dad likes to talk about anything, too. Even my son, Trevor, says he will always remember how knowledgeable Paul was about everything and how Paul was so great to talk to because he really focused on the person he was talking to. 

Ironically, one of the very last talks I had with Paul was in June when I accompanied him and Mom to the cemetery to visit their parents’ gravesite. We talked about one of the first camping trips from my childhood that I can remember because he was on that trip, too. Our conversation was mostly about the beef jerky he and I kept buying at the lakeside store. I did see him one more time after that, but the beef jerky conversation we had after visiting the cemetery is forever etched into my memory, and I’m glad I had it with him.

I will always hold many memories of Paul dear to my heart, as I’m sure each of you here will, too. Clearly, he meant a lot to a lot of people. Kevin, my brother, and I were some of his first photography subjects one afternoon in Johnson Park in Norfolk. While I will always admire Paul’s photographic prowess, I will forever shake my head in dismay at this one stupid pose he had me do. (right hand resting over left side of chest with pointer finger pointing toward my shoulder and thumb out) Gary owes his marriage to Sherrie to Paul because he met her after moving in with Paul when Karen and Jerry moved to Ewing. Troy was closest in age to Paul and was, naturally, Paul’s cohort on many escapades that we won’t speak of right now, and he and Gary, as well as others here, have lots of hunting, fishing and camping memories that contain Paul. 

Believe me, it was hard to sum up the greatness that was Paul and write this eulogy. I could go on and on and on. He was loved by each of us, and he loved every one of us. He is looking down on us and smiling that wonderful smile of his. We are better people for having known him.

I shared the following quote on my Facebook page and a few of you reshared it. I said then that it summed up Paul to a tee. If you aren’t on Facebook or didn’t have a chance to see the post, I’m going to read it to you now. The quote is incorrectly attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson when it really came from a short essay by Bessie Stanley, a woman from Kansas, but its relevance to Paul and his life is quite clear. I leave you with these words: 

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of the intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the beauty in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that one life has breathed easier because you lived here. This is to have succeeded.”

Paul Leroy Filsinger succeeded.

Eulogy for Paul Leroy Filsinger (11/19/1959 -- 10/01/2020)

Written and delivered by Tammy Marshall, his niece

October 17, 2020 -- Clearwater, Nebraska

 

I've recently taken up watercolor painting. I enjoy doing it a lot, and I've been painting some of Paul's photos as well as other things. I've also started to pay a lot more attention to the sunrises and sunsets, as those were Paul's favorite times to take photos on the river and elsewhere. Here are a few of my paintings and a sunrise that I captured the day after Paul died. Uncle Paul, I'll love you forever.

Pen-less Pandemic Protest Poem

During this unwanted (and unwarranted) time of isolation, I've done a lot of writing. Most of it has involved an actual pen moving across notebook pages, and some of it has been via the computer, but for a couple days I used scissors instead. One day I pulled out some old The New Yorker magazines I had and started reading the fiction stories in them, Something on one of the pages kind of jumped out at me, and I thought, "You know, that's a pretty fitting sentiment for right now." Soon, other things were jumping out at me, so I just started cutting words and phrases out until I had the "poem" depicted in the following photos. I deliberately used 4 issues from 4 different months that mirrored the time period of what I figured would be the 4 worst months of the pandemic. 

From it, you can probably gauge that I'm not in favor of the way things have been handled. My heart aches for everyone who ever got sick from this virus and even more so for those who died from it, but I'm even more heartbroken by the fallout I see of people who are needlessly suffering in other ways -- the elderly who live for the visits from family and friends to lighten the burden of their life in nursing homes, the people (like a dear friend of mine) whose surgeries got postponed again and again and then finally scheduled but whose loved ones weren't allowed in the hospitals even when those people (like my friend) ended up dying, the far too numerous people who are dying by suicide because they can't deal with the isolation or the loss of their businesses or the loss of so many other things, the people who have been punished for simply wanting to keep their businesses going or for wanting to gather to worship or to do all sorts of things that make life worth living, and so so so so many other things. 

I'm especially sickened by the need to belittle, deride, disparage, ridicule, and outright insult those of us who do not agree with how things are being handled. Normally, I pass over the rude comments and do my best to ignore people when they are being mean, but just today I came to the defense of someone who was being viciously attacked on Facebook for a post he made in which it was clear that he is not in favor of how things have been handled either. The things people were saying to him were truly unbelievable, and I just couldn't take it anymore when I read one person saying incredibly untrue things about him. I replied and told him my very positive opinion of him. He thanked me and pointed out how Facebook has become the land of bullies who lash out at anyone who dares to express himself "out of the programmed norm." Why is that? Why do so many feel the need to be downright vicious in their comments? Each of his comments were worded politely; yet every single reply he received (besides mine) was atrocious and full of swear words and name calling that I wouldn't even think to say to someone let alone write it in a comment on any social media platform. 

People want to rail about how we need to protect everyone from this virus and how we should do everything to prevent others from getting sick, yet some of those same people show how sick they truly are by the things they say to others who (gasp) dare to disagree with them. I don't fear the virus; I fear the mentality of cruel people who believe that they know better than everyone else. I know I'm not alone in that sentiment, so that's why I'm sharing my "poem" with you. If you feel the need to write me a cruel, judgmental, demeaning, ridiculing reply, please have the decency to formulate it as a poem, too. Thanks.

Shtick This! Tam's Grammar 102

Hello again! Grammar 101 last week went over so well that I thought I'd send out a second lesson for anyone who'd like to self-educate during this self-quarantine time of craziness.

If you didn't read the first one, I covered misuse of "don't," "could of," "seen," "there," "their," "they're," and a few other things.

In today's lesson, Grammar 102, we're going to begin with GOOD and WELL. Ahhh, I can hear the groans from here. (I hope you noticed my correct use of the homophones "hear" and "here.") Now, I know that almost everyone misuses these two words on a daily basis, but that does NOT make it acceptable for you to continue to misuse them.

In fact, I'm going to go off on a slight tangent here, but it's one that I often use in my grammar class at school to make a point. Think about watching a sporting event, especially a sport that you love and know the rules for it really well. So, you're watching this game either from the sidelines or from your comfy couch at home, and suddenly one of the players does something wrong, but the referee doesn't see it. You, however, see it. How do you react? Do you get pissed that the refs let something slide, or do you just shrug it off because it's one of those fouls that seem to be far too prevalent nowadays? I suspect that if you are a true fan of the sport you get mad, and you probably even yell at the ref. You say something like, "How could you have missed that?!" or "Are you blind?!" or even "Where'd you learn to referee? You don't know your head from your ass!"

Now, think how you feel when you witness an uncalled foul in your favorite sport. Channel that feeling. . . . That's how I feel every time I witness a grammar gaffe made by people who should know their heads from their asses! If you can learn the rules of a sport so well that you are an armchair referee, then you can also learn the rules of the language you use every single day. If you can't, or if you refuse out of sheer laziness, then don't be shocked to find yourself at the end of a verbal tirade by someone like me calling FOUL at your misuse of basic English grammar.

So, let's get back to GOOD and WELL. Here's the simplistic explanation: GOOD is an adjective, and WELL is an adverb. Yes, there are exceptions, and they both do have other uses, and blah, blah, blah; however, they are misused because people confuse them concerning whether they need an adjective or adverb in their sentences. Of course, when I get that simplistic, I often get blank looks, especially concerning that word ADVERB.

Let's go simple about adverbs, too. After all, my main point of this post is to get people to stop making the common mistakes with these two words. There are all kinds of in-depth grammar books, articles, posts, etc. for anyone who really wants to go in-depth with the words GOOD and WELL. Simplistically speaking, an adverb tells HOW you do something, especially concerning the word WELL. It modifies (kind of describes) the verb (the action).

Examples: We played well yesterday. (not "good" -- well) They danced really well on stage. (How'd they dance? Well.) He shot really well from beyond the three-point line. You behaved well in class today. I know him well. (Again, how do I know him? Well.) Some people say I write well.  The student did well on her test. (How did she do? Well.)

If you're explaining HOW you did or do something (the action or verb), use WELL.

If you're describing something or someone (a noun or a pronoun), then you need an adjective, so you might want to use GOOD to describe that thing or person.

Examples: Today is a good day. (day = noun) How is the cake? It is good! (it = pronoun) You are such a good dog. Who's a good dog? You're a good dog! That's a good book; you should read it.

If you are telling what something or someone is like, and the best word you can come up with at the time is GOOD, that's all right because GOOD is an adjective, and it's an adjective's job to describe a noun or a pronoun. So, you'll be doing a good job and using good grammar if you use good to describe something.

I've taken enough of your time today, but I do want to share one more mistake that I see people making a lot. It's that very thing -- a lot. A LOT. Two separate words. A . . . space . . . LOT. It's not one word. It's not alot. That's not a word. The word "allot" exists, but it has a totally different meaning."I hope to have a lot of readers." "Wow, there are a lot of words misspelled in that book." "3,000 pieces in that puzzle?! That's a lot of pieces."

Thanks for reading. You've been a GOOD student. I hope you learned A LOT. If you continue to study WELL, don't be surprised to find yourself becoming a sideline grammar referee like I am. We're an unappreciated, but important, part of the most interesting sport out there -- proper  communication!

Shtick This! Tam's Grammar 101

I write this as I, like so many others out there, am essentially stuck (or should I say shtuck -- ha ha) in my house avoiding contact with others as this nasty COVID-19 virus makes its way across the world. I should be at school teaching. One of the things I should be teaching is grammar. Yes, I'm one of that elusive breed of people who actually love grammar because I love language and hate to see it abused when it's avoidable. Most grammar gaffes are easily corrected if you're aware of the mistakes you're making and actually care enough to stop making them.

Ah, that is the quandary, now isn't it? One has to care before one will make the necessary changes to better oneself no matter the task at hand. So, if you don't care about whether you come across as the intelligent person I'm going to assume you are (after all, you're reading this, so I already have high hopes for you), then you won't care enough to do the work to stop making the following blunders (if you make them at all), and you will continue to abet the ignorant masses. If that is the case, please stop reading now and go about your business. I'm done wasting my time on you. You clearly don't care.

However, if you'd care to help me perpetuate the use of our language as it should be used and better your verbal and written skills a bit, then read ahead.

1. The misuse of "seen" (I'll get to that soon) used to be my number one grammar pet peeve. It has been replaced by two others, and it's a toss up as to which one I hate more, so I'll flip a coin. One moment. . . . . . . . . . All right, here we go. The winner is: Stop using COULD OF!!

The correct usage is COULD HAVE as in "I could have gone to work today if it weren't for this damn virus that is ruining things for everyone." People make this mistake because the combination "could've" sounds a lot like "could of" when you say it, but just because it sounds like it doesn't make it correct. The same applies to SHOULD HAVE, WOULD HAVE, MUST HAVE, OUGHT TO HAVE, etc. "I could've been a contender" not "I could of been a contender."

2. The loser of the coin toss from above was "it don't, she don't, he don't." I wrote an entire blog post about this in December of 2015. Clearly, the country music industry did not pay attention to it and neither did many other people, so I'll repeat the key information here for you.

Do you say HE DO LIVE THERE? Of course you don't! You say HE DOES LIVE THERE. Thus, if it happens to be the case that he, in fact, does not live there, you could say HE DOES NOT LIVE THERE, or you could form the contraction of DOES with NOT and create DOESN'T. The words DOES and NOT do not contract to form DON'T. THEY DON'T DO THAT!!! For all the naysayers out there who like to pooh pooh things and say "It don't matter," it does very much matter! If you must be a pooh-pooher of anything, at least have the decency to correctly say "It doesn't matter."

3. If you have an excessive amount of something, then the word to use is TOO and not TO. For example, I, and many of you out there, currently have TOO much free time on my hands. It's never "to much" of anything; it's ALWAYS "too much" of it. This applies to being TOO TIRED to work, TOO FAT to fit into your high school jeans, TOO APATHETIC to care about using correct grammar, TOO SHORT to go on the rides at Disneyland whenever it opens again, etc. Get the picture?

TO is only used in front of verbs and to indicate movement. I need TO BUY more food. I'll go TO the store. Allow me TO EXPLAIN these things TO you.

4. If you can't find your keys, you could say that you often LOSE them; however, you never ever LOOSE them. Loose = not tight, as in "I only wish my jeans were LOOSE on me." Lose = misplace or unable to win a game, or even in expressions like "I'm going to LOSE my mind soon."

And, for the love of all that is still good in the world, if you absolutely must call someone a LOSER on social media, then have the decency to spell the word correctly. That person is a LOSER, not a LOOSER. If you call someone a LOOSER, the only LOSER is you.

5. Here's one I've noticed a lot recently. Let me give you the example first, and you see if you notice the mistake. "Do to the corona virus, schools are being closed for the next few weeks." I'm hoping and praying that the error jumped out at you right away. Did it?

It's not DO TO! It's DUE TO! "Due to social media, many people are becoming more and more inept with their words, or maybe social media is simply a platform for them to show off their ineptness."

6. Now let's address the word SEEN. I believe that most people actually know how to use this word correctly but choose not to do so. Simple past tense of TO SEE is SAW. "I saw that." It's never "I seen that." Never, never, never, never, never, infinity. "I have seen that." "I had seen that." "I will have seen that." "He has seen that." "You must have seen that." "As seen in theaters, . . . " "The UFO was seen by two witnesses." There are many times when SEEN is correct, but simple past tense is NOT one of them. If you witnessed something interesting in the past, you SAW it.

7. THERE is "over there," the opposite of HERE, or it is used in the common expressions of THERE IS or THERE ARE. As Woody says, "There's a snake in my boot." As I say, "There are far too many people who use incorrect or sloppy grammar."

THEIR refers to something that belongs to THEM. "That's THEIR house." Whose house is it? THEIR house.

THEY'RE = THEY ARE. Period. End of story. They are my friends can become THEY'RE MY FRIENDS. It doesn't become THERE MY FRIENDS, or THEIR MY FRIENDS. They might not remain your friends if can't correctly claim them. THEY'RE MY FRIENDS. THEY ARE = THEY'RE. That's it.


If you stayed with me this long, congratulate yourself. If you learned anything, congratulate me. If you'd like to read any more grammar rants from me, let me know.

Once Upon a Time . . .

Once upon a time, there was a very unhappy queen who was married to a troll. She didn't know he was a troll when she married him; in fact, she believed him to be a handsome and sweet prince. Sadly, though, she was mistaken -- he was a troll who had been temporarily granted princely characteristics after selling his soul to an evil demon from the underworld so that he could win the heart of the beautiful, young queen and use her sweet nature and riches for his own selfish purposes.

After the queen unknowingly married the wicked little troll, his princely shine slowly started to wear off. She began to notice how his once deep and lovely voice was becoming whiny and needy and ugly. Then his muscular physique and broad shoulders slowly shifted to a slouched posture and a big, fat, hairy belly. His once beautiful eyes became hard and squinty like a lizard's. The sweet things he used to say to her became cruel and downright rude, and then the troll would laugh while the queen cried. All his golden promises became lumps of hardened coal that couldn't even bear enough heat to melt the block of ice that was his heart.

The queen wanted to do what was best for her kingdom and her subjects. She could see them suffering along with her, but for a while she kept refusing to believe what was right in front of her eyes because every now and then the ugly troll would gain a bit of golden shimmer from the evil demon. Then the queen would briefly see the nice prince she thought she'd married, and she'd hope for the best.

Alas, the best would never happen, though.

Instead, the horrible little troll would return; each time he'd be uglier and a bit larger until the truth became completely clear to the sad queen. Finally, she took a good long look at her unhappy subjects and her crumbling kingdom, and she knew she must do something to rid them all of the nasty troll.

One day, she went for a drive in her chariot to clear her head, and she saw a magical sign, and a voice spoke to her saying, "It's time, my dear." So, the queen straightened her crown, held her chin up high and went to see the kingdom's arbiter.

The arbiter was a creepy little man himself, but he'd been given the power to decide the rules of the land, so the queen did as he said even though she thought he was a great big dodo bird. She gave him a lot of gold coins to settle things for her, so she could make the troll leave her and her kingdom and its subjects forever.

Naturally, the troll didn't want to go because he had a very easy life living off the queen and all her money, but he also didn't love the queen; so once he knew that he was going to get a lot of money from her to leave, he left.

Then the most amazing things began to happen.

Immediately, the sky turned bright blue and the sun shone brighter. Birds that had been silent for years all started to sing again. Flowers burst into bloom. The queen looked around and marveled at the beautiful transformation of her kingdom. Then she looked in the mirror at herself, and she saw that her skin was glowing, and she was smiling -- really smiling -- for the first time in years. The queen laughed in delight, and she danced from room to room in her castle.

Her subjects looked around in amazement, too. The bleak land they'd known for years was now full of light and joy. They laughed and sang songs to celebrate. Animals pranced alongside them and no longer ran away in fear.

The queen gazed out upon her loyal subjects and said, "I am so sorry that I allowed that evil troll to stay so long. I hope you can forgive me." The subjects rushed upon her and hugged and kissed her, and once again the sad and lonely queen felt loved.

And she lived happily ever after, and she continues to live happily ever after. Seven years and counting.