One of my favorite authors...

Many, many years ago a certain woman child, about 10-12 years old, was given the dreaded chore of cleaning out the camper before (or was it after?) a camping trip. Since, she was out of the direct line of site of the her mother and she was easily distracted, she started reading the yellow newspapers lining the drawers. She started reading a column by Erma Bombeck...and her life has never been the same!

Now, Erma was no fire and brimstone evangelist or pop psychologist. She was just an ordinary woman living an ordinary life and documenting it in a reality-based way with a heavy accent on the humor, satire, irony and sarcasm that life brings. She helped this too-serious minded girl to lighten-up a little.

Since that day, I have been an avid reader of Erma's work. I frequently take an Erma book with me when I travel--I especially like "When You Look Like Your Passport Photo It's Time to go Home." It's about some of her personal travels. I have been to some of the same places and her descriptions are hysterically accurate.

My favorite Erma book is "Forever, Erma." It was complied after she died in the mid-nineties and is a collection of her best writings.

Here are two of my favorite more serious Erma columns:

If I Had My Life To Live Over

by Erma Bombeck

The following was written by the late Erma Bombeck
after she found out that she had cancer.


If I had my life to live over, I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love you's".. More "I'm sorrys" ...

But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute... look at it and really see it ... live it...and never give it back.


Caregivers--- November 26, 1991
by Erma Bombeck

Recently in a column I lamented the death of heroes. I was wrong. There isn't a scarcity of heroes. I was just looking for them in the wrong places. I thought they hung out in sports arenas, great halls, battlefields or between the pages of adventure books.

I should have been looking for them in pharmacies, where they are waiting to have prescriptions filled; in hospital corridors, keeping vigil or collapsing wheelchairs and storing them in the trunks of cars. They are called nurturers - the well one in the family who takes care of the one with needs.

How many times have we passed by without seeing these nameless, faceless people who roll out of bed each day to serve? Most of them live in the shadow of those who are ill. They are not used to someone asking how they feel. If it should miraculously happen, they would probably feel guilty answering, "Fine".

Never underestimate what it takes to watch someone you love in pain. Nurturers face each day without benefit of numbing painkillers or anesthetics.
They live in a world where personal feelings and duty clash. Those who have assumed the mantle of responsibility for another human being hate the word hero. They are doing what they want to do, must do and wouldn't want anyone else to do.

I have observed women who pay the bills, have the oil changed in the car, change furnace filters, negotiate for a new roof, turn over CDs and go crazy trying to keep pace with Medicare and Medicaid forms when their husbands are unable to do so.

I have seen men who bake pies, do the marketing, address Christmas cards, keep track of birthdays, water plants, scrub floors, and go crazy trying to keep pace with Medicare and Medicaid forms when their wives are unable to do so.

And daily I watch grown children who run errands, make a million phone calls, take parents to appointments, drop off food, make sure their license plates are current, their lawns are cut and their walks cleared of snow and go crazy trying to keep pace with Medicare and Medicaid forms.

Today would be a good time to think about them. And when you see a nurturer, ask "How you doin'?"

Here are just a few of my favorite Erma quotes--mostly on the lighter side.


Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died.

When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, "I used everything you gave me.

My kids always perceived the bathroom as a place where you wait it out until all the groceries are unloaded from the car.

When your mother asks, "Do you want a piece of advice?" it is a mere formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to get it anyway.

There are people who put their dreams in a little box and say, "Yes, I've got dreams, of course I've got dreams." Then they put the box away and bring it out once in awhile to look in it, and yep, they're still there.

It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else.

There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.

Did you ever notice that the first piece of luggage on the carousel never belongs to anyone?

I've exercised with women so thin that buzzards followed them to their cars.

Sometimes I can't figure designers out. It's as if they flunked human anatomy.

There's something wrong with a mother who washes out a measuring cup with soap and water after she's only measured water in it.

A child develops individuality long before he discovers taste.

My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.

So, faithful readers, there you have it. The history behind my interest in Erma's writing. I am also the proud owner of a complete collection of Erma books, most of them falling apart from use and including several duplicates--plus a couple of personal correspondences from her and a rare 8-track of her speaking!