Joan Bauer
From: http://www.joanbauer.com/jbbio.html
July 12, 1951 - I was born at eleven A.M., a most reasonable time, my mother often said, and when the nurse put me in my mother's arms for the first time I had both a nasty case of the hiccups and no discernible forehead (it's since grown in). I've always believed in comic entrances.
As I grew up in River Forest, Illinois, in the 1950's, I seem to remember an early fascination with things that were funny. I thought that people who could make other people laugh were terribly fortunate. While my friends made their career plans, declaring they would become doctors, nurses, and lawyers, inwardly I knew that I wanted to be involved somehow in comedy. This, however, was a difficult concept to get across in first grade. But I had a mother with a great comic sense (she was a high school English teacher) and a grandmother who had been a funny professional storyteller, so I figured the right genes were in there somewhere, although I didn't always laugh at what my friends laughed at and they rarely giggled at my jokes. That, and the fact that I was overweight and very tall, all made me feel quite different when I was growing up--a bit like a musk ox at a tea party.
My grandmother, who I called Nana, had the biggest influence on me creatively. She taught me the importance of stories and laughter. She never said, "Now I'm going to tell you a funny story," she'd just tell a story, and the humor would naturally flow from it because of who she was and how she and her characters saw the world. She showed me the difference between derisive laughter that hurts others and laughter that comes from the heart. She showed me, too, that stories help us understand ourselves at a deep level. She was a keen observer of people.
I kept a diary as a child, was always penning stories and poems. I played the flute heartily, taught myself the guitar, and wrote folk songs. For years I wanted to be a comedienne, then a comedy writer. I was a voracious reader, too, and can still remember the dark wood and the green leather chairs of the River Forest Public Library, can hear my shoes tapping on the stairs going down to the children's room, can feel my fingers sliding across rows and rows of books, looking through the card catalogs that seemed to house everything that anyone would ever need to know about in the entire world. My parents divorced when I was eight years old, and I was devastated at the loss of my father. I pull from that memory regularly as a writer. Every book I have written so far has dealt with complex father issues. My dad was an alcoholic and the pain of that was a shadow that followed me for years, but I've learned things from that experience that have made me resilient. I attempted to address those issues in Rules of the Road, and I took them even further in the companion book, Best Foot Forward. The theme that I try to carry into all of my writing is this: adversity, if we let it, will make us stronger.
In my twenties, I worked in sales and advertising for the Chicago Tribune, McGraw-Hill, WLS Radio, and Parade Magazine. I met my husband Evan, a computer engineer, while I was on vacation. Our courtship was simple. He asked me to dance; I said no. We got married five months later in August, 1981. But I was not happy in advertising sales, and I had a few ulcers to prove it. With Evan's loving support, I decided to try my hand at professional writing. I wish I could say that everything started falling into place, but it was a slow, slow build -- writing newspaper and magazine articles for not much money. My daughter Jean was born in July of '82. She had the soul of a writer even as a baby. I can remember sitting at my typewriter (I didn't have a computer back then) writing away with Jean on a blanket on the floor next to me. If my writing was bad that day, I'd tear that page out of the typewriter and hand it to her. "Bad paper," I'd say and Jean would r
“I'll tell you something about tough things. They just about kill you, but if you decide to keep working at them, you'll find the way through. On the Food Network they have these shows where cooks have to put a meal together with all these weird ingredients. That's a lot like my life-dealing with things you wouldn't think ever go together. But a good cook can make the best meal out of the craziest combinations.”
“I held it over my heart. Mrs. Worth smiled. "That's where a book should be carried.”
“But then Macon smiled at me. "Just be yourself, Foster. That's the best thing in the world.”
“I'll tell you something about tough times. They just about kill you, but if you decide to keep working at them, you'll find your way through.”
“Cope or die.”
“Almost Homeby Sugar Mae ColeHome isn’t always a place you picture in your mindWith furniture and cookies and music playing and people laughing.Home is something you can carry around like a dreamAnd let it grow in your heart until you’re ready for it.Losing things helps you appreciate when you find them againAnd finding things gives you hope that when you lose thingsIt might not be forever.Once, long ago, a girl lost her home, but she didn’t lose her dream.She hung on to it as the wind kept trying to blow it away,But that just made it stronger.So now she has keys and walls of many colorsAnd people around her who think she’s something.”
“Almost.It’s a big word for me.I feel it everywhere.Almost home.Almost happy.Almost changed.Almost, but not quite.Not yet.Soon, maybe.I’m hoping hard for that.”
“Sometimes the best thing that can happen to a person is to have a puppy lick your face.”
“What in the world are we going to do with you?' Mrs. Ritter asked.I could think of a few things.Take it easy on me.Teach me different.Care about me just a little.So many times that year I wanted to shout,'It's not like I'm waking up in the morning and trying to mess up. I just don't get it!”
“If you worry about every little thing you're going to have one thoroughly miserable life.”
“If you can't find an answer at the mall or the library, what does that say about the world?”
“She stamped the book and gave it to me. "You bring it back in three weeks."I held it over my heart. Mrs. Worth smiled. "That's where a book should be carried.”
“I reached into my bag and pulled out a pumpkin spice muffin with walnuts that was as moist as anything. "It can be plain for breakfast or I can top it with cream cheese frosting. I like a muffin that can go from day to evening."I gave it to her. She sniffed it, nodded, and held it up."How do I know you're not trying to poison me?"I wasn't expecting that question. "Ms. Morningstar, I swear, if I was going to poison you, I wouldn't ruin a perfectly fine muffin to do it.”
“Perchance, I would listen. Have you said anything?”
“You don't understand how much light you've got until the lights go out”
“People are so cheap. Everyone wants quality, no one wants to pay for it. Here's the suburban dream-- to hire great workers who are such meek morons that they don't have the guts to ask for a living wage.”
“But through it all I held Mrs. Pettibone's words in my heart-the ones she spoke to me after the funeral when she took my hand, looked into my face and said, "You've got your father's eyes.”
“I watched that plant in the office every day.Watered it; misted it. I loved thinking about it like G.T. said, but part of me was worried the tree surgery wouldn't take. Something would go wrong and then I"d be stuck with a metaphor that couldn't go the distance.”
“It takes a great cook to pull life truth from poultry.”
“We were having the best time working together, too, except when he'd make a mistake on an order and I'd have to be an advocate for my customer. I always mentioned it sweetly."You didn't say hold the bacon, Hope.""Barverman, I said it twice.""You must have said it to someone else.""I said it to you."Clang."Don't clang pots at me.”
“Finally he said, "Hope, do you want to have dinner with me sometime?"I dropped a plastic bottle of Gulden's.We looked at it on the floor. Neither of us picked it up."I mean, I know we have dinner a lot when we're working. I meant out someplace. Together." Braverman picked up the Gulden's bottle, handed it to me. He coughed. "A date."I said, "What is this, an epidemic?"I backed out the door and left Braverman in the supply closet.I don't get asked out too much either.”
“Know why I plant trees?""No.""I like thinking that they'll be here long after I'm gone. All those fine memories pushing up to the sky.”
“I had expected the well to be full for some reason.Not that it had ever been before.I kept looking for signs of water in the dark insides.I heard my bucket clank as it hitAgainst the walls that held nothing.I look at the bucket that came up emptyAnd made a decision that changed my life.I will keep my bucket and find another well.”
“Harrison wrote a two-page poem about his deep feelings of loss when his dog Filbert died, and Mrs. Minerva, the creative writing teacher, gave it a B-minus. Do you know what that does to a a person to get a B-minus in Grief?”
“To quote Shirley Polanski, head waitress at the Humdinger Diner: "Beware of a big man whose stomach doesn't move when he laughs."I think a Chinese philosopher said it first, but these things trickle down to the food service community.”
“Addie always keeps her promises. That's why my mother gave me to her.”
“Mom's note on the dining room table to me and Faith read:Daughters of mine,In case you haven't noticed, no one has seen the top of our dining room table in months. I seem to recall it is oak, but as the days dwindle by, I'm less and less sure. Perhaps this is because your school books, files, papers, magazines, letters, underwear, etc., are shielding it from normal use. My goal for you, dear offspring, to be accomplished in twenty-four hours (no excuses), is the clearing/exhuming of this space so that we may gather around it once again and spend quality time. Even though I am working the night shift, I will still be watching. Do it or die. Your loving mother”
“She shoved her can right under his chin. "Don't mess with seniors," she growled at him.”
“Elden started toward me, "I think that's enough!"The man I almost knocked down bolted from his chair and shouted, "Let her speak!"Yield, rat boy!”
“Mother, this is a confidential business discussion. I hardly think that your driver can add anything noteworthy."I could kick you in the stomach, I thought, moving toward the couch. I could drag you across Texas by your pointy ears.”
“...Difficult relationships come into our lives for a reason. No one would choose them, certainly. But if we let them, they can teach us how to be flexible with others and more forgiving.”
“...It isn't the problems along the way that make us or break us. It's how we learn to stand and face them that makes the difference.”
“When you listen to G. T. Stoop, you understand the importance of being a honorable person, you get charged to fight for the truth, you get angry that so many politicians are playing games with people's trust.”
“I hope you'll have the kind of life where what you stand for is so important that it makes some people outright hostile. You won't know how strong your beliefs really are until you have to defend them.”
“Some things go too deep for words.”
“It seemed to me that the people who made the rules of the road had figured out everything that would help a person drive safely right down to having a sign that tells you you're passing through a place where deer cross. Somebody should stick up some signs on the highway of life.CAUTION: JERKS CROSSING.Blinking yellow lights when you're about to to something stupid.Stop signs in front of people who could hurt you.Green lights shining when you're doing the right thing.It would make the whole experience easier.”
“I looked at her from the corner of my eye. Some people are hard to imagine as children.”
“i hate leaving places i love i was never at one place long. am i selfish?”
“Wes held my hand in front of Dad, who played it real easy, like I had boys around all the time. JoAnn said I was lucky, and she should know. Her father specialized in fear, being a life insurance salesman, and could bring a boy to his knees.”
“I regarded the pumpkin thief's worst nightmare: splotchy coat, tattered ears, sleeping death rattle. "He gums robbers to death?" I asked. "What if they bring biscuits?”
“Not all vegetables are this draining. Lettuce doesn't bring heartache. Turnips don't ask for your soul. Potatoes don't care where you are or even where they are. Tomatoes cuddle up to anyone who'll give them mulch and sunshine. But giants like Max need you every second. You can forget about a whiz-bang social life.”
“Parents just concentrate on the thing that drives them nuts and all the other good stuff you do goes out the window.”
“You need a negative charge and a positive one to get something moving. We've got the negative; we're going to find the positive if it kills us.”
“Librarians understand about power - they know how to find anything.”
“Revenge of the Giant Grill Man.”
“Huevos up. Swing up to the window, swing back to Al B. Hall, who says, "Bless you," and would I get him a bottle of Satan's Red-Hot Revenge for the eggs?Sure thing, Pastor.”
“Guys don't understand great art. They don't care that sometimes the camera has power beyond the photographer to record emotion that only the heart can see. They're threatened when the camera jumps ahead of me. Todd Kovich was pissed when I brought my Nikon to the prom, but I'd missed too many transcendent shots over the years to ever take a chance of missing one again. A prom, I told him, had a boundless supply of photogenic bozos who could be counted on to do something base.”
“Why do you think, A.J.," they say in unison, "that you find these boys so attractive?" I didn't say that this fiery chemical explosion leaps from somewhere inside me. Parents don't want to hear these things. I shrugged and said nothing. "Maybe you should try sitting on the intensity," Mom suggests, "just until your feelings catch up with reality.""We could chain you to the water heater," Dad offers, "until these little moments pass."You see what I'm up against.”
“I nearly tripped over Stieglitz, my dog, a forty-pound black-and-white keeshond (pronounced caze-hawnd) furball. He lunged at me with unbridled glee because the mere sight of my presence always made his day. It's important to have a dog. Dogs love unconditionally. (Thwonk)”
“It was February sixth: eight days until Valentine's Day. I was dateless, as usual, deep in the vice grip of unrequited love. It was bad enough not having a boyfriend for New Year's Eve. Now I had to cope with Valentine datelessness, feeling consummate social pressure from every retailer in America who stuck hearts and cupids in their windows by January second to rub it in.”