* 3 YEARS AGO THIS MONTH & A SPECIAL BOOK PRICE *

Can it possibly be THREE years since I finally completed and published my memoir??

Publication date: November 6, 2013.

Sometimes I still can't believe I actually did it, but I had lots of help.

+ In honor of my deceased father, I'm offering a print copy of my memoir at a discounted price through the end of December 2016. Since Amazon and Barnes & Noble's online store already sell it for $12.95 plus shipping, if you buy it directly from me I'll not only match their price, but will also pay the shipping! (In USA only. Anywhere outside of the USA, I'll have to charge shipping.)


My website http://www.beckypovich.com/ has always offered it at $18.14, which includes Missouri tax and shipping. But I'll take care of the tax, too, for this special offer.

 

So, that means it's only $12.95 each when shipped within the USA!

I'll also be happy to sign them individually, if requested.

 

 

 

 MY MEMOIR WOULD MAKE A

FANTASTIC CHRISTMAS GIFT!

 

 

http://waterbrookmultnomah.com/

 

 

 

* If you are interested in ordering, please e-mail me or leave a comment and I'll get right back to you! * THANK YOU!

 

 



 

 

As many Amazon reviews point out, this is a great read,

no matter your age or gender -

 

 

"...I often found myself putting Povich's book down while I stopped in my cerebral rest stop to pursue my own past, and marvel at the similarities and differences. This is not a book through which one races - savor the nuances and differences, as one savors a multi-course banquet...Be sure to have your favorite comfort drink by your side - tea, coffee, lemonade - as this is as much a conversation with Becky Povich sharing her side of life, as it is a reminiscence oasis." - John Busbee, writer, actor, director, also the producer and host of "The Culture Buzz" on KFMG 98.9 FM, Des Moines, Iowa.

 

 

 "Charming!" - A.E. Hotchner, St Louis' own bestselling author.

 

 

"Becky Povich's memoir, From Pigtails to Chin Hairs, is a largely affectionate account of life's ups and downs from a writer who learned to find her voice -- and her bliss." - Teri Rizvi, founder of the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop at the University of Dayton.

 

 

 

 

I'LL ALSO BE HAPPY TO GIFT WRAP EACH BOOK! WHERE ELSE CAN YOU RECEIVE SUCH PERSONAL SERVICE, AND WITH A SMILE?  J



 



 

+ So, what does my deceased father have to do with a special price on my memoir? Because tomorrow, November 30th, is the anniversary of his death in 2002, and we were able to reconnect in a good way before he died. A chapter about him, "Thoughts on Love & Forgiveness" is included in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Divorce & Recovery.

And also, the following is on Page ii of my memoir:

“If it hadn’t been for my father, both literally and figuratively, this memoir would never have been written.”

 

 

        

Following

Follow on Amazon

Follow authors to get new release updates, plus improved recommendations and more coming soon.
Learn More

Similar authors to follow

See more recommendations

$ERROR_TEXT$

You need to complete your profile in order to start following people.

Complete my profile

 

* NOSTALGIC SUNDAY *

It's Time for Another Nostalgic Sunday

 

~~~

 

This will be a short and sweet Nostalgic Sunday, since it's very close to being Monday!

 

 

 

This picture is one of my favorites, partly because it's probably the only one I have of just my brother Mike, and me, and our dad. But also because we were so happy then. It was Christmas Day approximately 1960. Looks like we were getting ready to go to Mass, or just got home. I vividly remember my outfit, I guess because I loved it so much! It was a gray jumper with a pink blouse. To this day, I still love pink and gray together. Mike is holding his new Chess For Beginners game, and I'm holding my much loved Colorforms! And what is our dad doing? Reading the newspaper, not paying a bit of attention. SO TYPICAL! And he's wearing what I affectionately refer to as his "Barney Fife suit!"....I wonder what's the deal with he and Mike wearing white socks with their suits??

 

Ahh, such a happy time in my life that ended way too soon......

 

 

Happy 2016 everyone! May this be a year of doors opening and blissful encounters for all!

Blogger is giving me trouble this morning, so if I even get this posted, it will surprise me.

Only a couple of things today >>>

Today, August 6, 2014 would have been my mother's 99th birthday! It feels odd to think of her that old, especially since she died relatively young. She was only 74 years old when she died.

My dad's birthday is also this month, on August 11th. He would have been 90. Yes, he was nine years younger than she was, and he died at age 78.

Mother, dad, Mike, and me.

Approx. 1958

Notice the Mother-Daughter dresses

my mother made!

 

 

 



The other thing I wanted to mention >>>

I've been replying to your comments and realized I haven't been doing a very good job at it! I'm still on Tea Cup Tuesday, from July 22nd, which I began this morning and that's when Blogger started s-l-o-w-i-n-g d-o-w-n. I'll keep getting caught up as soon as I can....and begin visiting your blogs and leaving comments for YOU! I apologize for being so s-l-o-w myself!


Okay, I'm now going to attempt to post this...for the fourth time! Acckkkkk!!!!

Oh My Gosh!! It worked!! Have a wonderful Wednesday everyone!

 

 

* NOSTALGIC SUNDAY *

It's Time Again for Another Nostalgic Sunday

My mind has been racing around in figure-eights and zig-zags, and miles way up high, and then swirling, floating down below with thoughts as many and as unique as the miracle of snowflakes. 

And because of all that, it's been almost impossible to choose which memories I want to include in today's Nostalgic Sunday post. So, I've decided to post random snippets of my memoir.

.....Some of my best memories are the times Dad and I watched TV together. It was more than just sitting, side by side, on our scratchy couch.(What was that material?)

I loved watching him as he watched TV. It was a show all by itself, an interactive one, and I was mesmerized every time...........

Dad would be so busy trying to watch TV while peering over his newspaper and holding his cigarette that he’d be lost to the world. It was as if he were daydreaming. Trying to get his attention during those times was next to impossible. I would watch the long ash of his cigarette hanging on for dear life, slowly bending down farther and farther, until it was the size of a gray wooly worm. Not being able to stand it a second longer, I’d finally yell, “Dad! Your ashes are falling!” I’d usually grab the ashtray and catch them just in the nick of time. He’d nonchalantly glance my way, as if he’d forgotten I was even there. He’d let out a chuckle and thank me for being so watchful. Afterwards, he’d go back to doing it all over again.

~~~

.......“Do you know what this note says?” she asked.

I already knew it wasn’t something good from her face and her tone. “No, ma’am.”

“Miss Mary Ann says you cheated during the times table test today! Rebecca Anne, is that right? Did you cheat?”

 Oh my gosh. I know I’m in big trouble when I’m called Rebecca!

“Uh…well, I uh—”

“I can’t believe this! You know better than to do something like this. You know it’s wrong to cheat. And it’s a sin!”

There it was—the dreaded guilt of sin being laid on me. I’d never seen my mother so upset, about anyone or anything, and here she was angry with me. I guess I was going to go to Hell. Attending a Catholic school Monday through Friday and Mass every Sunday, I knew all about Heaven and Hell and sins. But what I did should only be a venial sin, shouldn’t it? Not the horrible, mortal kind.I started to explain about the paper hanging out of someone’s desk, and how I thought I could do something like that.......

~~~

I hope y'all enjoyed reading those little tidbits of my young life! What else might have happened when I watched TV? What punishment did I receive for my gosh, I'm gullible sin?

*Welcome to my newest follower, Living a Dream. I hope you'll stop by often and always enjoy what you read and see! Thank you so much! *

"Back on its golden hinges, the gate of memory swings. And my heart goes into the garden and walks with the olden things." --  Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ponderings On a Monday Morning

Vern and I spent some time on the deck this morning, and as he snoozed I sipped coffee from one of many favorite cups! 

Within the first few minutes we were there, five different prop planes puttered across the sky above us. I've never seen that many in such a short period of time. I noticed they were different too, so it wasn't a couple of planes flying in circles, tricking my mind.  

If you're new to my blog, you're probably wondering What's so special about propeller planes? I don't just "notice" them, I'm kind of obsessed with them! They carry a very special meaning to me. You can learn more about it from these two blog posts: 

http://beckypovich.blogspot.com/2012_02_18_archive.html

http://beckypovich.blogspot.com/2012_02_19_archive.html

This time along with the instantaneous, "memoir reminders," other thoughts came to mind.

I don't know if there is any kind of afterlife, but I remember being taught as a young child that when we got to Heaven, we would find out and understand all those unknown marvels; all those mysteries in life that I couldn't understand then....or now. 

As I sat and wondered about those countless prop planes I've seen and heard during the past year, a new thought came to me. IF there is a Heaven, and IF I get there someday, I don't need or want to know all those mysteries of the universe. All I want is to know everything about my parents. But I have some guidelines... (I don't dare refer to them as "rules" in Heaven!) I won't want to know everything right away. No, I want to be able to talk with them individually and hear in their own words why they made the decisions they made, all through their lives. 

Why? Because I never asked the difficult questions when I had the chance....after my parents' divorce.The ones I did attempt to ask my mother were usually shot down with, "Oh, I don't remember about that." -or- "I don't want to talk about that." 

And when I was in my dad's presence, rare as it was, I never had the guts to ask those persistent questions that haunted me for so many years, and still do at times.

If you have the time and opportunity to ask your parents, or any other relatives or friends, those important questions you need and want answers to, please do it while you still can. I wish I had.


“You can find something truly important in an ordinary minute.” 
― Mitch Albom, For One More Day


(Quote from my favorite Mitch Albom book)

* Decoration Day 2013 *

In America, today is Memorial Day, 2013. 

Every Memorial Day I take time to remember why we celebrate. Many years ago, it was known as Decoration Day. That's because it was the day families and friends laid wreaths and other patriotic decorations on the graves of loved ones....those who died in wars.

Some men came home from wars, but many others did not. I am alive today because of one man that did not make it home....my mother's first husband. He was killed during WWII, and although that was heartbreaking for her and her two young daughters, my brother, Mike, and I wouldn't be here if that hadn't happened. A few years later, she met and married our father. When Mike and I were born, we already had an instant family....one that consisted of two teenage sisters for us!

During our barbecues, picnics, and parties celebrating the beginning of summer, let's remember why it's possible that all of us are here today. 

I don't write a political blog, but I will say this, if you've never been to Washington, DC and seen Arlington Cemetery and/or the Vietnam Wall, you've missed out on a couple of extremely powerful sights. You will surely have chills......


*I will announce the winner of the book give-away tomorrow, May 28th *


"I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask, 'Mother, what was war?' " ~ Eve Merriam

* One Year Ago Today *

I find it hard to believe that it was one year ago when I wrote the following poem and posted it on my blog, February 18, 2012. At the time, it was Untitled, but later I named it "Daddy's Girl."

I'd been seeing prop planes everywhere I went, whether walking or driving, and that particular afternoon the words just came to me. I sat at my laptop and this is what I wrote:

Daddy's Girl

I strolled along the pavement,
the sound of quiet surrounding me
like a quilt. The stillness was deafening
until I heard the engine of a prop plane 
flying overhead. Pausing and shading my eyes,
I squint and watch it putter across
the powder blue sky.
Memories flood my soul,
immediately tugging my mouth
into a wide grin.

The next day I walk the 
same path. A distant cardinal chirps,
most likely believing it's already spring.
Why shouldn't he?
These past few days have been nothing
but glorious.
Just the calendar page declares
it's only early February.
I turn, searching for his brilliant crimson color
among the vast bare branches
but my eyes cannot find him.

I notice the sky is full of vapor trails.
Those wispy, cloud-like streaks also 
carry memories for the child within me. 

I think back. All those years ago.

The newness of jet airplanes and the

thundering explosions of sonic booms.

My dad explaining the magic & mystery.
I close my eyes, and for a moment
I'm standing motionless in my front yard again.
Staring up, marveling at the sight above,
taking it all in and thinking as profoundly as
a five-year-old possibly can.

Blinking, I hesitate for a moment, then

become aware of my present surroundings.

I begin my walk back home.
Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow 

I'll return to the same path,
thinking back and I'll
reminisce once more.
Sentimental journeys.
Always bittersweet.

©2012 Becky Povich

Although I'm amazed that I wrote poetry, what's even more amazing is that it was a breakthrough day. From then on, I began to write more often, felt more confident, and had very little writer's block. 

If you're not familiar with my love of prop planes, the following post will help.

http://beckypovich.blogspot.com/2012/02/nostalgic-sundays_19.html

* Welcome to my newest follower Pat. I hope you'll stop by often and always enjoy what you read and see! * 

"I don't believe that life is supposed to make you feel good, or make you feel miserable either. Life is just supposed to make you feel." -- Gloria Naylor

* Nostalgic Sunday *

It's time for another Nostalgic Sunday!

Last night I thought about Christmases of long ago, and it occurred to me to share a few lines from various chapters in my memoir. 

~~~

The first one involves my sister Jo Ann, my brother Mike and me. I was 10 years old.(my parents were recently divorced at this time)
.......another very cold Sunday, Jo Ann, Mike and I were at Mass. When it was time to go to Communion, we were still completely bundled up in our heavy winter coats. Since we walked the few blocks to church, we never did warm up. As we knelt at the Communion railing, all of a sudden one of the shiny, gold buttons on Mike's coat popped off and went soaring up towards the altar. I guess he had on one too many layers that day and the thread couldn't hold any longer. And of course, being in a situation where we shouldn’t laugh, it made us want to giggle all the more. We couldn’t help but do that silent, shoulder shaking laughing and a bit of snorting, too. Luckily, the button didn’t hit the priest, or anyone else, but it pinged a couple of times as it bounced around the marble floor and steps. I could feel many pairs of eyes scanning the front of church, wondering who the culprits were. The three of us managed to get through the rest of Mass without causing any more commotion, but I don’t think we could've said what the closing hymn was. We were too busy trying to keep solemn faces and weren't doing a very good job of it.

~~~

I remember a few things all the way back to when I was three years old. The following are some of them.

My brother and I never believed in Santa Claus. Why, you may ask? Our mother didn’t want us to! She said when she learned the truth as a little girl she was so devastated she didn’t want her own children to ever suffer the way she did. Huh?! ....

...I watched my older sisters Marian and JoAnn wrap presents.....Some years we had Snow-in-a-Can and Dad sprayed that fake stuff all over the tree. I actually have a few delicate ornaments with that gunk still on them......Those early Christmases were perfect and I still carry them in my heart. Our tiny house didn't overflow with gifts or decorations, but with our family's love. There was a warmth to our home that I felt even as a little girl of three or four years old.

Becky & Mike
get a load of my knock knees!

~~~

The time frame of the following speaks for itself.

......I particularly remember getting an idea in my head the Christmas I was 12 years old. I truly believed he was going to “come to his senses” and come home to us. (I’m pretty sure that idea came from my mother.)  I sat for hours in our living room, facing the front door, listening to Bing Crosby croon “I’ll Be Home for Christmas." I played that record so many times, I almost wore it out.  I just knew any minute he would burst through the door, ask for forgiveness and be loaded down with gifts for all of us, including Mother. It was a scene I played repeatedly in my wistful daydreams. I made sure the porch light was on, so Dad could find our house. But of course, that never happened.  (The title of this chapter is "Thoughts On Love & Forgiveness," and was published in Chicken Soup for the Soul; Divorce & Recovery in 2008.)

Although most of my adolescent Christmases were lonely, because they were spent without my dad, I choose more times than not to remember those early, happy ones.

Wishing everyone the merriest of Christmases!

 "Memory is the library of the mind." -- Francis Fauvel Gouraud

Encouragement and Approval from the Sky

(I'm still on my Blog Break, but felt the urge to share the following. Please don't feel the need to comment, because I'm still not reading other blogs, and that just wouldn't be fair.)

It doesn't seem possible that it was three months ago when I wrote the following poem. The weather was magically warm and I walked in wondrous thoughts and visions. That's when it began to sink in. The cosmic, overwhelming sense that now was the time to get serious about my writing. Now was the time to continue on with my memoir. Jump over those hurdles standing before me. And burst through anything or anyone (including myself) who got in my way.

Since that profound February day, I see and hear prop planes almost every single day. And the most Cosmic & ♫♪ Twilight Zoney ♫♪ thing about it is.....WHEN I see them. 

• When Vern and I are doing our daily walk. (at various times of day)
• When I just walk out onto our deck, with my pen and tablet in hand.
• When I'm driving, and all of a sudden one is flying over my car. 
• When I walk out to our mailbox. 
• When The Ronald and I are sitting on our deck, just talking and resting. 
• When I'm in a parking lot, walking into or out of a grocery store.

The point is: There is no particular time of day or night!!

It's become such a regular occurrence, it makes me smile and laugh every time. 

After looking up at the plane, and then further up into the sky, I said out loud: " I see it. I see it! I'm getting it! I'm getting it! Thanks! I'm getting it!"  ☺

That's me, during a visit to Parks Airport, 2009.

Now, just what do prop planes have to do with my memoir? The short version is this: I didn't really write until my *estranged father* became seriously ill and wasn't expected to live. My feelings about him poured out of me and were printed in a local newspaper (and later in a Chicken Soup for the Soul book). That's when I decided I was a writer and would write my memoir: From Pigtails to Chin Hairs: A Memoir & More

* (When I was a little girl, dad was a professor at a local aeronautical college. I've loved planes and everything to do with flying ever since. If you check my archives of dad, Parks Colleges, prop planes, etc. you can find out more.) *

So, there you have it. I'm getting help completing my book in what I'd call blissful and spiritual ways! 

Untitled               February 18, 2012


I strolled along the pavement,
the sound of quiet surrounding me
like a quilt. The stillness was deafening
until I heard the engine of a prop plane 
flying overhead. Stopping and shading my eyes,
I squint and watch it putter across
the powder blue sky.
Memories flooded my soul,
immediately tugging my mouth
into a wide grin.

The next day I walk the 
same path. A distant cardinal chirps,
most likely believing it's already spring.
Why shouldn't he?
These past few days have been nothing
but glorious.
Only the calendar page declares
it's just early February.
I turn, looking for his brilliant crimson color
among the vast bare branches
but my eyes cannot find him.

I notice the sky is full of "airplane smoke,"
those cloud-like wispy lines also 
carry memories for the child within me. 
I close my eyes, and for a moment
I'm standing motionless in my front yard again.
I stare up, marveling at the sight above,
taking it all in and thinking as profoundly as
a five-year-old possibly can.

Blinking, I become aware of 
my present surroundings and
begin my journey
back home.
Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow 
I'll think back and 
reminisce once more.
Sentimental journeys.
Always bittersweet.

©2012 Becky Povich

"My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living." -- Anais Nin

* Nostalgic Sundays *

Time for another Nostalgic Sunday

In my last *Nostalgic Sunday* post, on March 4th, I mentioned buying something on Ebay that pertained to Parks College. (My dad was a student and then a professor at Parks in the late 1940s to the early 1960s.) I also said I couldn't get the pictures from Ebay to copy well onto my blog and that you'd just have to wait until I received it to see pictures.....Well....Ta Dahhhh......

It's a hardcover journal, approximately 8" x 11", made by a young man who was interested in going to Parks College......around 1931!



 When I look through this book, I know I'm touching something special. Something that meant a great deal to a young man who was trying to decide what he wanted to do with his life.

I'm fairly certain this was a class assignment, most likely for a high school senior. He wrote about the advantages and disadvantages of choosing aviation as his "life's work." There is a total of 39 pages, the last sentence in his Preface is this: The success of this book is due to Miss ______ who is our teacher and guide.

I'm keeping both the student's and teacher's names anonymous. I feel as if I need to guard their identity, as if they were part of my own family.

 He glued newspaper clippings in it.

There's a booklet of tuition prices which includes "Parks Flying School" and "Airplane and Engine Mechanics' Course."

There are quite a few pages of hand printed information about the history of aviation, including the Wright Brothers and Charles Lindbergh.

(you can click on the photos to enlarge them)

I'll definitely ask a friend who works in the Parks' archives department if he can find out anything about this man. I truly hope he was able to fulfill his dream!

*And welcome to my newest follower, Belleu80, I hope you'll stop by often and always enjoy what you read and see. Thank you!*

"The engine is the heart of an aeroplane, but the pilot is its soul." -- Unknown

* Nostalgic Sundays *

Time for Another Nostalgic Sunday

I'm feeling especially nostalgic today and I know it's because of the poem I posted yesterday. Those memories of prop planes and of being a little girl also pertain to my dad. Some of  you may remember my posts about his years as a college professor at a local aeronautical college - Parks College. 

(Parks has always been part of SLU - St. Louis University. Back in those days, it had its own buildings and wasn't physically connected to SLU.) Whenever I'd be outside playing, it was normal for a prop plane to fly over our neighborhood. If I would've actually known that a student might be the pilot, I may have been a bit scared to be standing there, looking up at it!

This is how I'll always remember my dad.

Those were the happiest years of my childhood. The summer after I finished 2nd Grade, though, we moved to Nebraska because my dad wanted a different job. Maybe those early years are so special because they didn't last very long.....and our family life changed.

What do you think? Do you have vivid childhood memories? Happy or sad?

Welcome to my newest follower, Julie Hedlund. I hope you'll stop by often and always enjoy what you read and see. Thank you!

"Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes." ~ Gloria Naylor

Searching for Bliss

A few days ago I wrote the following. Originally it was going to be a "regular" chapter in my memoir but as I typed, the words felt more like a poem to me. It was one of those special moments when the words just flowed. (If this isn't poetry, please forgive me. It's my very first one.)

Untitled


I strolled along the pavement,
the sound of quiet surrounding me
like a quilt. The stillness was deafening
until I heard the engine of a prop plane
flying overhead. Stopping and shading my eyes,
I squint and watch it putter across
the powder blue sky.
Memories flooded my soul,
immediately tugging my mouth
into a wide grin.

The next day I walk the
same path. A distant cardinal chirps,
most likely believing it's already spring.
Why shouldn't he?
These past few days have been nothing
but glorious.
Only the calendar page declares
it's just early February.
I turn, looking for his brilliant crimson color
among the vast bare branches
but my eyes cannot find him.

I notice the sky is full of "airplane smoke,"
those cloud-like wispy lines also
carry memories for the child within me.
I close my eyes, and for a moment
I'm standing motionless in my front yard again.
I stare up, marveling at the sight above,
taking it all in and thinking as profoundly as
a five-year-old possibly can.

Blinking, I become aware of
my present surroundings and
begin my journey
back home.
Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow
I'll think back and
reminisce once more.
Sentimental journeys.
Always bittersweet.

©2012 Becky Povich