Harbingers

"You know it’s spring when the sandhill cranes come back!"

A couple of years ago, when we first toured this house with a realtor, I was reading the spec sheet to learn the details of the property. In a section describing the wetlands beyond the hayfield, the owner had written the sentence above.

It seemed like an unusual thing to include in a real estate description, and at the time I paid little attention to it. I was infinitely more interested in details like square footage and whether the tanks in the drain field were working properly.

The first summer we moved in, though, I really enjoyed having those cranes around. They had a very distinctive call and were quite beautiful in flight. There were always three of them, never just one or two. One was noticeably smaller than the others, so we surmised that this must be a family, sharing a nest together in our wetlands.

They stayed through the fall but were gone when the cold weather came. It was a particularly harsh winter in Michigan, that first year. It seemed to snow nearly every day, and our power got knocked out twice by high winds (no generator yet—it’s still on our wish list). Then just when it seemed as if winter would never end, and the world outside my window would stay frozen forever, the cranes came back.

And that was it—the last of the cold weather. The air began to smell musty, like dirt and rain and roots. Tiny shoots started poking out of the ground. The frozen wetlands grew mushy again. We hung up our winter coats and hats and gloves. It was spring.

Last year, only two of the cranes came back. Jim and I told ourselves that the third one had finally grown up and left home, and the remaining two were now empty nesters, like us. We hoped that’s what happened, anyway. We like to think that Crane, Jr. is out there somewhere, with a family of his own.

A few days ago, Jim was out in the backyard with the dog when he suddenly came and knocked on the kitchen window. “Can you see them?” he asked, pointing through the trees. “Right there.” At first I couldn’t see anything,

but then one of them moved. And then the other. Then they both took off over the house, long necks and graceful wings outstretched. Jim and I smiled at each other, because we’re believers now.

No matter what the calendar or the weatherman or the Farmer’s Almanac might say, we know the true harbinger of spring: it’s when the sandhill cranes come back.

Manuscript Update
One of the consequences to letting people know about a work in progress is that they tend to ask things like, “So, how’s the book coming along?” On different days I have different answers—the process of creating something from nothing has been both exhilarating and exhausting.

To give you some idea of what it's like, I’ll close with a couple of quotes (I know, I just can’t help myself!). The first is an often-told story about James Joyce. When asked by a friend about his manuscript in progress, he said with some exasperation, “I’ve written seven words today.” The friend replied, “Well, James, for you, actually, that’s not bad.” Joyce considered this, then said, “I suppose that’s true, but now I’ve got to figure out what order to put them in.”

And finally, here is Oscar Wilde on the subject of the writing process: “I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again."

A Work in Progress

“Every first draft is perfect, because

all it has to do is exist. The only

way it could be imperfect would be not to exist.” --Jane Smiley

I have this quote tacked to the bulletin board above my desk, to help me stay on course when I get stuck working on a new manuscript.

For me, first drafts can be excruciating. Even with an outline, there are so many decisions to make at every turn. Is that the exact word I want? Should this line of dialog go here? Does that setting need more detail? It’s so easy to get bogged down at this point, so easy to feel overwhelmed by the thought of all those blank pages lurking out there, needing to be filled. I wish I could just pull the thoughts out of my head and sprinkle them on the paper, like magic fairy dust.

I’ve found this stage to be especially challenging for the project I’m working on now—the first sequel to Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl. Since the characters and setting are already established, and the publisher has already approved the storyline, I expected it to be easier this time. But as I kept struggling with the first few chapters, it dawned on me that I had never written a sequel before, and I honestly had no idea how to do it.

It turns out that sequels are tricky little things, with their own unique set of decisions. Should the story stand alone, or is it considered merely the middle of a trilogy? Could I assume the reader had read the first book, or did I need to repeat some of the original story? And how would I find that nearly invisible line between filling in the new reader while not boring the returning reader to tears? It felt paralyzing at first.

It took a while to figure out an approach that weaves elements of the first book into the opening chapters of the new one, while also introducing new conflict and hinting at events to come. Since those chapters set the tone for the rest of the book, I really wanted them to be right. It was a relief to be able to share my work in progress with my editor—a huge advantage to being under contract versus being an aspiring author out there all alone! She assured me that I was on the right path and helped me feel confident in the decisions I’ve made so far.

While I'm busy working on this book, marketing efforts have begun for Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl. I was thrilled to see it listed in the “New Books for Spring” section of Publisher’s Weekly, the industry "bible" sent to thousands of publishers, libraries, bookstores and writers. I was asked to write a feature page about the book for my publisher’s quarterly magazine, Life & Soul. That comes out in March. They are working on a promotional video for the book, as well as a video interview with me, to post on their site and on youtube. And they are arranging for some radio and podcast interviews as well.

I’m sure I’d be nervous if I had time to think about all this, but right now it’s taking all the concentration I can

muster to produce a sequel I’m proud of. I’m pushing through, scene by scene, chapter by chapter, resisting the urge to make every word perfect before I can move on. I know that my strength as a writer is in the revision process. I’m much better at polishing than at producing from scratch. So all this first draft has to do is exist—I can come back later to sprinkle on a little magic fairy dust.

Still Sipping Soup

It’s been over a year since “Pedal Power” appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Empty Nesters, but the story continues to impact my life in a positive way. Last year I made a presentation and signed books at our local Woman's Expo, and now I’ve been invited to sign some for a local bookseller at a similar event in March. Recently a support group called “Empty Nest Moms” published the blog post I wrote as a follow-up to "Pedal Power" in their online magazine. I’m really thrilled that my musings on a topic so close to my heart continues to resonate with people!

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Heard a Good Book Lately?

There was a magic in words
greater than the conjurer's art.
- Jack London

Although I've discovered many pleasures in country living, commuting is not one of them. On a good day it takes 30 minutes to drive to my office downtown—longer when school buses, freight trains, crummy weather and construction zones get in the way.

I know that by some standards that isn’t bad, but for me it’s an hour a day of frustration and monotony. I can’t relax or daydream or work on a manuscript in my head, because I’m supposed to be, you know, paying attention to driving (something I wish my fellow commuters would do a little more of). I tried distracting myself with morning radio but couldn't take the incessant chatter or commercials. Besides, it can be pretty depressing starting the day with what passes for “news” sometimes.

Since I'm still iPod-less (and yes, I'm aware that it's the 21st century, thank you) I've had to rely on my CD collection. That was fine for a while, but there’s a limit to how many times even I can sing along to Carole King’s Tapestry album.

Then one day I asked a coworker and fellow commuter how she coped with her long drive every day. “Actually, I look forward to it,” she told me. “It’s the only chance I get all day to read.” If those cartoon lightbulbs over people’s heads were real, mine would have clicked on instantly, lighting up the whole city block.

Books! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. When the kids were young, we owned a few book/audiotape sets. I would pop a tape into the car’s cassette player, hand them the book, and they would “read” along, the little ding on the soundtrack telling them when it was time to turn the page. I remember that Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad series and Disney books based on movies like The Fox and the Hound were particular favorites.

When we’d go on an occasional long trip (Michigan —> Florida = 24 hours in the car, bleh) I always stopped by the library first to check out a few more audiobooks for the kids. I even tried it myself once or twice, since I’m one of those unfortunate people who gets queasy reading in the car. But back then, a full-length novel came in a giant plastic box with some 25 cassettes. Kind of clunky, to say the least, and a lot to keep track of when you were on vacation with three little kids.

In the years since then, I’ve driven roughly 3.26 million miles, but they were mostly with kids in tow—my kids, the kids in the carpool, the kids on the soccer team, the kids in the school play. I listened to whatever they were listening to, which evolved from Disney movie soundtracks to Hootie and the Blowfish, The Smashing Pumpkins, No Doubt, Matchbox 20. When I did happen to find myself alone in the car, I would usually just enjoy the peace and quiet.

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But now, out of the chauffeur business and alone in the car for an hour a day, I’ve discovered that audiobooks are the perfect way to fill the empty spaces. Some of the first ones I tried were in the Harry Potter series, read by the brilliant Jim Dale. He must be some kind of wizard himself, because he sprinkled those books with magic, capturing the nuances of every character with just his amazing voice. I found out later that he won two Grammy Awards for his work on those books—I’m surprised it wasn’t more.

Sometimes audiobooks are enhanced because the author actually narrates them. This is especially true for nonfiction. Steve Martin’s autobiography, Born Standing Up, is a great example. Hearing him read the comedy bits sprinkled through the book is like performance art. And the serious parts seem even more poignant when you hear them in his own voice. Tom Brokaw also did a great job with Boom!, his collection of opinions and anecdotes about the 1960s.

Hearing stories told in authentic accents is another bonus of audiobooks. The Irish readers who narrate Maeve Binchy’s books have made me love them even more. Her words sound so much richer, sweeter and funnier than the way I hear them in my American head. Another example is the popular novel The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. Set during World War II, the story is comprised entirely of letters the characters send to each other. Hearing them read in different voices and accents adds to the authenticity, bringing a cast of dozens to believable life.

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Not all books are well-suited for audio, of course. I remember my dad struggling with The DaVinci Code because the audio version couldn't show him the puzzles and anagrams he was supposed to be figuring out. Highly illustrated books like those in Jeff Kinney's wonderful Diary of a Wimpy Kid series would never work, either. And certainly I've run across books that would have benefitted from a more talented voice actor.

But now I’m addicted. I sometimes arrive at work right in the middle of an exciting scene, only to have to wait in suspense all day until it’s time to drive home. And it makes me crazy when I get in the car and realize I don’t have a book to listen to. Then it's time to jump online and browse the library’s catalog to see what's available on CD (much more compact—heh—and user friendly than the old cassettes).

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Now the CDs themselves are about to make way for the newest format—eAudiobooks. These electronic files are downloaded directly from an online store to a computer or MP3. The library has them, too—you download them and after the three-week “lending period,” they disappear from your computer. I don’t get how they do that, but it’s cool! In fact, it may just be the motivation that finally gets me to buy an iPod.

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New Year, New Words

For last year's words belong
to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make
a beginning.

~T.S. Eliot

I’ve been completely AWOL from this blog since Thanksgiving, and here we are already a week into 2010. Winter is firmly entrenched, keeping me mostly indoors but providing a beautiful landscape by way of apology. I took this picture from the pole barn, looking into the backyard. I love how the red house and berries stand out against the bright snow.

But before any more time slips away, I first want to send out best wishes to all of you for much happiness in the new year. It means so much to me that you are reading these posts and following my writing journey. The path I’m on is sure to take some unexpected turns, and I feel blessed to have such good company along the way.

Following a joyous (and extended) Christmas season, I’m happy to be back at work on my projects. The most exciting news I have to share is that the cover art for Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl has been completed. With my publisher's permission, I'm thrilled to be debuting it here.

The illustrations for both the front and back covers were created by artist Wayne Alfano. I expected them to be computer-generated, so was surprised to learn that they are actually full-size oil paintings. I’m just delighted with how he has captured the personalities of Anna Mei and her friends. He also included some specific details that are important in the story, such as a science experiment in the background and a sketchbook that helps illuminate the "cartoon girl" part of the title. The back cover includes a second illustration, plus a few more graphic elements pulled right from the story. What a thrill to see all of this brought to life on a piece of paper I can hold in my hands!

It's also been fascinating to learn details about the design process—how and why certain colors were chosen, how the design ties in with the Marketing Department’s promotional plans, how important it is that the art works both as a full-size book cover and as a thumbnail image. It’s very gratifying—and humbling—to know that so much care and attention is being taken with these details.

In anticipation of Anna Mei’s debut in a few months, I now have an official Author Page at Amazon.com. As soon as the book is available, the cover will be added to the ones already there. In March, I hope to add this one from Chicken Soup for the Soul. I should hear a final decision about that sometime next month. And in August, Celebrate the Season!, including my story called "O Holy Night," will be available from Pauline Books.

So much to look forward to! But in the meantime comes the hard work of facing down the blank screen, of breathing new life into the characters I created so that their story can continue in the next book. For inspiration, it would be hard to beat this picture of them staring down from the bulletin board above my computer, encouraging me to give it my best shot.

'Tis (Not Quite) the Season

Snowflakes in the air,
beauty everywhere,
Yuletide by the fireside
and joyful memories there…
—A Charlie Brown Christmas

The first snow has just fallen—this year it waited politely until December to make an appearance. Christmas, on the other hand, invaded the stores and airwaves at least a month ago. Here’s one of my favorite cartoons by Sandra Boynton, showing Thanksgiving symbols exiting the stage as Santa and his reindeer come dancing in. I guess these days you would have to replace her pilgrims and turkey with ghosts and jack-o-lanterns.

As I mentioned in my last post, I’ve always been staunchly against hauling out the holly before December. “To everything there is a season” after all, and I’ve always felt that you dilute and diminish Christmas by stretching it out past its time.

When our kids were young we started a tradition of waiting until after St. Nicholas Day (Dec. 6) to get our tree. We'd tramp through the snow at the tree farm until we found "the one" (usually too big for our space but who can tell when they’re all standing together in a field?). Then out came the Bing Crosby and Raffi Christmas tapes, along with the special mugs for eggnog (all three of the boys just loved that stuff!)

We’d spend the rest of the day decorating the tree with popcorn, candy canes and our beloved (sometimes bedraggled) collection of ornaments, accumulated through

the years and all reflecting the era in which they were made or purchased. Dinosaurs, pinecone carolers, Bert and Ernie, Cub Scout woodcarvings, Ninja Turtles—they’ve all had their moments basking in the glow of our Christmas tree lights. Here's our youngest son, David, with his very first tree. (Hey, don't mock the acid wash jeans—it was the 80s, after all.)

We managed to keep up this homespun tradition right through the teenage years and beyond. But with all three kids now living in other states, Jim and I expected this to be the year we finally had to face the end of it. I pictured the two of us wandering into Home Depot a few days before Christmas, listlessly choosing a crooked, dried-out tree someone else had cut down months ago and shipped here via semi-truck. I certainly wasn't in any hurry for that particular scenario.

But it seems we still have one Christmas ace in the hole. The only son close enough to come home for Thanksgiving, David rolled out of bed that Saturday morning, rummaged through the closet for some boots and gloves, and announced that it was time to go get our tree.
The good thing about your traditions is that they belong to you completely. You can turn, twist and tweak them any way you want. So out the window went “not until December” and off we went to the tree farm. Almost as sentimental as his mom, David wanted the whole experience, just as it had been every year since he was born (although Bing got passed over in favor of Sarah McLaughlin and the Charlie Brown soundtrack—sorry, Bing!). Because of him we have another happy "Tree Day" to add to our collection.

Now he’s back at school for a few more weeks, and the tree (just the right size for a change) stands sparkling in the window, loaded with twinkly lights and cherished memories. It’s a little early, but that's okay. For me the tree holds the promise and anticipation of all the family gatherings yet to come, and the sense of joy and wonder I feel at getting ready for Christmas, when we welcome the most treasured guest of all:

Make your house fair as you are able,

Trim the hearth and set the table.

People, look east and sing today:

Love, the guest, is on the way.

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--French Christmas carol

Words and music by Eleanor Farjeon, 1928

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In Praise of November

Now that the “Christmas season” seems to begin the moment the last trick-or-treater toddles off into the sunset, it would be easy to glide right through November without pausing. But I will go down fighting to preserve November as being special in its own right. It's not a sparkly, showy month, but it has a quiet dignity all its own—an air of remembrance, reflection, and gratitude.

I was thinking about this recently after spending a day with my coworkers at the library’s annual all-staff inservice. I feel so lucky to be working with people like this—they are talented and smart, funny and kind. They love books and art and knowledge. They believe in the library’s mission with all their hearts, and they never stop working to make sure they are delivering the best possible service to our community.

It’s not just that I'm thankful to have a job during these hard times—it’s that I have this job. When I started working there I had just sold my first magazine story. Nine years and a lot of stories later, the library job and the writing continue to dovetail beautifully, adding up to a professional life I enjoy and am proud of. That I've made some wonderful friends at the same time has been the icing on the cake.

Also on my gratitude list—the experience of watching my book manuscript go through the publication process. I spent last week proofreading a PDF version of Anna Mei, helping make sure all the quotes were closed and the commas were in the right places. It’s all typeset and paginated, ready to go to press in December. I feel like Geppetto watching Pinnochio become a real boy—my little character is coming to life right before my eyes!

Then in the middle of all this bounty I got an email about the story I submitted to Chicken Soup for the Soul in August: “Your story has made it to the final selection round. Only about five percent of the submitted stories have made it this far. The vast majority of stories in this last round will appear in the book, which is scheduled for publication on March 23, 2010.”

Appropriately enough, the book is

called Thanks, Mom. And if you

think it’s probably a nostalgia piece about my childhood and about

raising my own kids… well then, you know me pretty well! Let’s just say that as both a mother and a daughter, I felt qualified to write about this topic. I hope the Chicken Soup editors decide that my story will resonate with all the other mothers and daughters out there (just in time for Mother's Day gift-giving ;).

In the meantime, I’ll keep the Christmas lights packed away long enough to celebrate November. I’ll raise a glass to family and friends, work and home—all the things that matter. And I’ll think of the traditional Irish blessing I used in Anna Mei, which sums all this up better than I can:

Walls for the wind,

A roof for the rain

And tea beside the fire.

Laughter to cheer you,

Those you love near you,

And all that your heart may desire.

Golden Autumn Leaves

Quiet thoughts come floating down and settle softly to the ground
Like golden autumn leaves
around my feet.
I touch them and they burst apart
with sweet memory…

I’ve always gravitated toward lyrics like these, the kind dripping with sentiment and nostalgia. I’m especially susceptible to them in autumn, when the passage of time seems less like an abstract idea and more like an anvil dropping, right alongside all those leaves.

With all the kids grown, autumn has really changed for me. The activities that marked the season—soccer games, Cub Scout projects, Halloween costumes, Homecoming—used to keep me busy right up until it was time to start Christmas shopping. While certainly a lot more chaotic, that lifestyle suited me somehow. This quieter, more peaceful version gives me a little too much time to dwell on the melancholy of it all.

Nothing marks this change more sharply than Halloween. When we were first married, Jim and I had fun decorating our little apartment and carving pumpkins. One memorable year we were invited to a costume party. With literally no money to spend, I took markers to posterboard and voilà—the King and Queen of Hearts! Jim was not exactly thrilled with my inspiration but he let me paint red hearts on his face (it must have been true love). We still laugh about those costumes because I had failed to take a very important fact into account—once those sandwich boards were on, it was impossible to sit down. Oops.

After the boys were born, we had the perfect excuse to celebrate
Halloween, putting scarecrows on the porch, going to Boo at the Zoo and visiting the pumpkin patch. We hosted carnivals in our backyard for all the neighbor kids, one of which featured a spook house in our garage. Jim enjoyed putting that together as much as the boys did. Right up until they moved away they were still carving pumpkins and helping give out candy to the trick-or-treaters.

Last year was the first time we didn’t have any kids home for Halloween. No trick-or-treaters, either—our country house is too far away for kids to venture out. We lit candles and watched some old Twilight Zone episodes (that one where Billy Mumy’s dead grandmother calls him on his toy phone? Still creepy!). But it felt strange, and not in the good, Halloweeny way.

Since then I’ve realized that the best way to keep from getting bogged down by old memories is to keep making new ones. In September, we had a great time with Matthew and his girlfriend Lauren when they visited from Oregon. We watched the sun set over Lake Michigan, hiked the dunes, went apple-picking and saw a Tiger baseball game. On their last night here they cooked us a delicious dinner, complete with apple pie.

In October, David came home from college for an R & R weekend. He recharged his batteries with lots of sleep and good homecooking, and we also managed to squeeze in the Toy Story double feature. It was so much fun to watch those movies with him again on the big screen.

Then we spent a weekend with my parents, making applesauce (and pie!), as we’ve done every fall for almost 20 years. The next weekend we drove to New York to visit Paul. He took us to a farmer’s market, the antiques district and an apple orchard. We had another delicious dinner, this time courtesy of his friend Ardyth (and yes, there was pie). We rounded out the trip by playing Scene-it—Paul is the only one in the family willing to challenge me in trivia games!

So it's been a different kind of autumn, but wonderful in its own way. We made lots of new "sweet memories" I'll cherish. And as a bonus? There sure was a lot of good pie! (I put the picture in just for you, Dad.)

Sharpening My Pencils

I know everyone says this, but honestly, didn’t that summer whiz by? Seems like I was just planning the menu for our 4th of July picnic (cherry pie, anyone?) and now it’s October. This picture is the view from my kitchen window.

Ready or not, I do love autumn. It’s always been my favorite time of year, even when I was a kid and it meant going back to school. Maybe because it meant going back to school. After a long, sticky summer, I always felt invigorated by the crisp, cool days and the new challenges that awaited me in the classroom. If I may quote from You've Got Mail once again (oh come on, it's my blog!), Tom Hanks tells Meg Ryan that fall weather "makes me want to buy school supplies [and] send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils.”

It’s a feeling I need to muster up again, because I am now under contract with Pauline Books & Media for two Anna Mei sequels! A few months ago I submitted story ideas to Diane, my editor. She took them to her Editorial Board, who then took them to Acquisitions. After we worked through some details, they sent contracts for two more 28,000-word manuscripts. The books are tentatively scheduled to come out in February 2011 and April 2011. “Hey, it’s a trilogy,” one of my friends said when I told him the news. “Just like Star Wars.” Heh.

So now, with summer over and the excitement of the new contracts behind me, it’s time to sharpen my pencils and get down to the hard part—actually writing the books. But before I move on to the sequels, I wanted to share some news about the original:

1. PBM has selected an illustrator for the front and back covers. His name is Wayne Alfano, and he has just the style I was hoping for—colorful and lively but not cartoony. Here’s a cover he did for a Scholastic sports book for the same age group. I can’t wait to see how Anna Mei looks through his eyes.

2. Diane asked me to contribute three last things to the original manuscript: a back cover blurb (meant to entice readers but not spoil any of the plot), a short author bio, and a dedication. I know it sounds crazy, but in a strange way, these were harder to write than the book itself!

3. And finally, Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl is now officially registered with the Library of Congress. I visited the LoC when I was a kid, never in a million years believing I would have a book there one day. It’s just an incredible feeling.

Grund, Carol A.

Anna Mei, cartoon girl / by Carol A. Grund.

Summary: When eleven-year-old Anna Mei, who was adopted from China, moves from Boston to small-town Michigan, she finds herself questioning her identity, family history, and more as she seeks a way to fit in.

ISBN 0-8198-0788-5 (pbk.)

[1. Moving, Household--Fiction. 2. Adoption--Fiction. 3. Chinese Americans--Fiction. 4. Schools--Fiction. 5. Identity--Fiction. 6. Individuality--Fiction. 7. Family life--Michigan--Fiction. 8. Michigan--Fiction

Jingles That Jangle

Lately I’m drawn to the TV whenever I
hear the sweet, clear voice of a young Michael Jackson singing “I’ll Be There”:

You and I must make a pact.
We must bring salvation back.
Where there is love, I’ll be there.

This song was part of the fabric of my childhood, and every time I hear it I’m transported to that far away time called “the 70s.” For just a moment I’m in my bedroom, sitting on my purple and yellow-striped bedspread, writing a story or doing my homework. There’s no computer, no TV, no phone, no video game system. But there is a record player, and a stack of 45s I’d bought at Woolworth’s with my babysitting money.

I’ll reach out my hand to you.

I’ll have faith in all you do.

Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.

So imagine how it feels to realize that in 2009, the very year of Michael Jackson’s untimely death, this sweet and tender love song is on my TV because it's being used in a commercial for State Farm insurance. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth, tainting the way I feel about that song and that very personal memory from my childhood.

I realize that Madison Avenue has been co-opting popular music for a long time. I remember an old song called “Button Up Your Overcoat” being drafted for an Alka-Seltzer commercial (“you belong to me!”). The lyrics of a standard called “Tangerine” were twisted into a pitch for diet bars called Figurines (“it’s the diet lunch you love to crunch out loud!”). It turns out that the Pledge jingle from the 70s (“Lemon Pledge, very pretty, and the lemon smells so sweet…”) is really a folk song called “Lemon Tree.” Even Sinatra wasn’t safe—his classic “Strangers in the Night” was used in a spot for Anheuser Busch beer, featuring animated penguins.

Then there are the songs that seem tailor-made for marketing. You knew Stevie Wonder’s “I Just Called to Say I Love You” was destined to be a phone commercial the first time you heard it. “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair” from South Pacific made a perfect theme song for Clairol—they just substituted "gray" for "man." And you could make a case that Bachman-Turner Overdrive's "Takin' Care of Business" was a pretty good fit for Office Depot.

There are even songs that are better known for their use in commercials than for their original release. I’d never heard of The Hilltop Singers’ “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing” before Coca-Cola changed the words and made it famous in their iconic 1971 commercial. Carly Simon had a decent-sized hit with “Anticipation,” but that song got huge after Heinz used it to sell ketchup.

But somehow, when it’s my songs being

ripped off, the commercialization seems like a personal affront. Imagine my horror on hearing my beloved Partridge Family singing their mega-hit “I Think I Love You”… on a commercial for Cheerios! Or the dreamy Davy Jones asking the musical question, “Oh what can it mean?”… and finding out it means that “Daydream Believer” is now being used to hawk eBay.

The ad companies may think that using recognizable songs to push their products helps endear us to those products, but I disagree. For me, at least, there’s an element of “Thanks for ruining my song, guys” that makes me want to boycott them completely. One of the worst offenders currently on the air uses the Etta James version of “At Last.” Those beautiful violins, that gorgeous voice, those romantic lyrics… to sell Hoover vacuum cleaners?! Or how about the Moody Blues harmonizing to perfection on “Tuesday Afternoon,” from the smash 70s album Days of Future Passed? Yeah, it’s now a commercial for Visa, in which parents are encouraged to go into debt lavishing things on their children, since heaven knows the little darlings will be growing up soon and you may not have many more chances to spoil them.

To round out my rant, let’s go with a song that my then-boyfriend (now husband) and I used to like when we were dating: Todd Rundgren’s classic “Hello, It’s Me.”

It's important to me that you know you are free

'Cause I never want to make you change for me.

Think of me, you know that I'd be with you if I could…

It’s a song that perfectly reflects the era (spell that ERA, as in Equal Rights Amendment) in which it was written—a love song that also acknowledges the importance of personal independence within a relationship. After all these years, Rundgren finally sold the rights, and “Hello, It’s Me” is now being used to sell…Tums. Seriously. The lyrics are actually sung to food, the kind that once may have upset your stomach but which you will be able to eat again by simply popping a few antacid tablets. I can’t even watch the thing—it gives me a whole other kind of heartburn.

I know, I know—there are worse problems in the world. And it’s surely another step on the path toward curmudgeonly-ness to be lamenting changes from “the good old days.” But it just feels like one more little piece of my childhood that's been sold to the highest bidder—now even the soundtrack to my memories has been co-opted by the marketing machine.

.

For all you youngsters reading this, I'm sure you've noticed that lots of songs from the 80s and 90s have also been commercialized, including all those used in the initially-clever-but-increasingly-irritating Swiffer ads (“Swiff it! Swiff it good!”). I did a little searching and came up with some you may recognize. See if you can match the song to the product. You’ll be able to guess some, but for others, a logical link between the two is completely non-existent. Answers appear at the bottom—let me know how you do!

1. “I’ve Been Everywhere” (Johnny Cash)
2. “Dust in the Wind” (Kansas)
3. “Love Train” (The O’Jays)

4. "Revolution" (The Beatles)
5. “U Can’t Touch This” (M.C. Hammer)
6. “A Kiss to Build a Dream on” (Louis Armstrong)
7. “Won’t Get Fooled Again” (The Who)
8. “Just What I Needed” (The Cars)
9. “Free Ride” (Edgar Winter)
10. “Do You Believe in Magic” (Lovin’ Spoonful)
11. “Simply Irresistible” (Robert Palmer)
12. “Top of the World” (Carpenters)
13. “I Feel the Earth Move” (Carole King)
14. “Total Eclipse of the Heart” (Bonnie Tyler)
15. “Feels Like the First Time” (Foreigner)
16. “Love is in the Air” (Paul Young)
17. “All By Myself” (Eric Carmen)
18. “Take it on the Run” (REO Speedwagon)
19. “Like a Rock” (Bob Seger)

20. "Don't You Want Me?" (Human League)

A. Folger's

B. GM

C. Subaru

D. Chips Ahoy

E. Choice Hotels

F. Citgo

G. Kohls

H. Holiday Inn

I. Applebees

J. Coors

K. Glade

L. Nike

M. PetsMart

N. Visa

O. Aquafina

P. Chevy

Q. Nissan

R. Avis

S. Circuit City

T. Purell

_________________________________________

Answers: 1-E, 2-C, 3-J, 4-L, 5-T, 6-N, 7-T, 8-S, 9-F, 10-G, 11-I, 12-O, 13-M, 14-R, 15-A, 16-K, 17-B, 18-H, 19-P, 20-D

The Not-Quite-Empty Nest

Now that summer's ending, it’s time to
visit the whole empty nest concept again. It turns out to be even more complicated than I thought when I wrote about it for Chicken Soup for the Soul, back in 2008. At that time two of my sons had already moved out and my youngest was a senior in high school. I knew that for the first time in 24 years, my husband and I would be facing life without kids.

Anticipating how much we'd miss them, and the life we had when we were all together, we decided to make a pre-emptive strike. We sold our house in the suburbs and moved to the country. Our hope was that hard work in a new setting would help take some of the sting out of the adjustment phase. We would spackle over the empty spots in the nest with our own projects and challenges. And in the end we would have a new kind of life we had built together, just the two of us, just as we did when we were first married.

But it didn’t exactly work out that way. It seems that “empty” is one of those fluid words, at least in the context of the nest. Over the past two years, all three of our sons have lived with us for short periods of time. It's ironic, given that one of our primary reasons for moving was to live in a house that wasn’t filled with memories of them.

It turns out that we were wrong about that part. In fact, their presence here has helped make this house feel like home, in a way that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. They’ve helped us strip wallpaper (ugh, a job I hope never to have to do again as long as I live!), put in a vegetable garden, build a waterfall in the backyard, install shelves in the basement, even stack hay in the barn.

On a practical level, this help has been invaluable. But the true value is in the pleasure of working side by side with them, talking about everything and nothing, admiring their skills and their confidence, appreciating the good and accomplished young men they’ve become. It's a unique experience, living with your children again, getting to know them after they’ve moved away and have come back all grown up. It's something we never anticipated but feel lucky to have had.

It's also gratifying that all three have been comfortable and happy here. They've taken to this peaceful country setting in a way they never would have before, when their lives revolved around friends, school, sports and a million other activities. And since they’ve each lived here for a time, they don’t feel like they’re just visiting Mom and Dad’s house—they feel like they’re coming home.

The downside? Besides having to share a bathroom with boys again? For me it’s that the process of letting them go has been prolonged. Each time one of them stays for a few weeks or months, our lives take on a new rhythm. We learn to share the bathroom and the washing machine. We help take care of each others’ pets. We remember that a large pizza will barely go around, let alone provide a few days of leftovers as it used to do. We watch family movies and laugh about the old days. I never get tired of looking into those grown-up faces and seeing my sweet little boys there.

But then the day comes when their plans take them away again. For me this just never gets easier. While helping them pack I’m already anticipating the loss. Then for weeks afterward I bump into it at every turn—their car no longer in the driveway, their cat or dog not there to greet me when I get home from work, their favorite foods now sitting uneaten in the cupboard.

And it’s not as if they are just moving across town—currently they live in three different states, none of them ours. I think it's this "all or nothing" aspect that makes it so hard for me. Either they actually live in my house or they are far away—there's no in between. Now we won’t all be together again until Christmas time, and that’s only if the stars align.

So here we are, my husband and I, once again comforting each other. We know that having our sons here for a while has been worth the grief of seeing them go again. We also know that there are much worse things than having a family that misses each other when they’re apart.

Now it's time to adjust to the suddenly quiet house again and to start making plans for the fall. As some incredibly wise (though somewhat naive) person once wrote in her story for Chicken Soup: "After all, life doesn’t run backward. There is only forward. There is only the never-ending challenge of keeping your balance. I know I'll be fine if I just keep pedaling." I think it's a lesson I'll need to learn over and over again, at least for a little while longer.