In 2021, I wrote, “As Perimenopausal Women with Power Tools neared its pub date in spring, 2020, I envisioned a book release party. In addition to a short reading, there would be food, drink and conversation—a tribute to the lively evenings my characters shared throughout the book.”
Nearly three years after PWWPT made its quiet entrance into the world, I’m on the cusp of realizing that dream. Please join me on Thursday, May 4 at 7:00 p.m. for a Perimenopausal Women with Power ToolsAnniversary Celebration and Reading at Fact & Fiction.
Some of you will be with me in spirit.
Buley family reading in Leavenworth, WA, April 15, 2023.
My two biggest fans will partake from their celestial vantage points.
My parents, Dan & Kay Antonietti at 2013 NANNY ON THE RUN reading at Headframe Spirits in Butte, MT.
Grateful for all of you, I’m reminded of additional words from that 2021 blog post: “My parents modeled flexibility and resilience. They also taught me the art of friendship.”
Unbeknownst to me in 1990, Dr. Rudine Sims Bishop highlighted the necessity of providing children with diverse books in an essay titled, “Mirrors, Windows, and Sliding Glass Doors.” That same year, I was immersed in an array of childbirth, parenting, and picture books. I loaded infant Colin and three-year-old Eric into their car seats for weekly excursions to Tiny Tales story time at our public library. Eric and I unpacked bagfuls of board books and picture books on our way in, then replenished our supply after Tiny Tales ended.
Occasionally, I carted those books plus some of our own to the childbirth education classes I taught and scattered them on my students’ chairs. At the beginning of class, I pitched our public library and the joys of reading to children, ending with my hope that my students’ babies, like mine, would find comfort in “warm laps and good books.”
Colin, Karen, and Eric Buley 1992
In 2017, years before I uncovered Dr. Bishop’s words, I penned a blog post titled, “Queer is not a bad word.” I reflected on my early parenting years, then added:
“Fast forward twenty-five years. I wish I had known to look for LGBTQIA books. That acronym was not in my vocabulary back then, but acceptance, empathy, love, and tolerance were. I have since learned that I am an ally. And Eric is queer. He is also a Fulbrighter. A City Year AmeriCorps alum. An Education Pioneer. A TeamChild Board Fellow. And an MPA. A recent graduate of the University of Washington, he was nominated to be both a Husky 100 and a Luce Scholar. He is fluent in Spanish; has lived on four continents; and is compassionate, kind, and an inspiration. His sexual orientation does not define him.”
My days of hands-on parenting, childbirth education, and obstetrical nursing are long behind me. Now, I work in a high school library. There’s a chance some students whom I helped to welcome into the world years earlier have since recommended books to me.
But students in parts of our country have less access to books than others do. As reported last month in U.S. News and World Report, “Book bans, while not a new phenomenon, have gained momentum in recent years. Censorship attempts have most recently targeted books that include LGBTQ characters or address issues of race and racism.”
In my quest to learn more, I discovered Dr. Bishop and her research. Her advocacy for literature that mirrors children’s experiences or provides glimpses or portals into the lives of others is more important now than ever, as I wrote in a June 16 Seattle Times op-ed.
Thirty-two years have passed since Dr. Bishop wrote: “When there are enough books available that can act as both mirrors and windows for all our children, they will see that we can celebrate both our differences and our similarities, because together they are what make us all human.”
If I were still teaching childbirth education classes, I would scatter board books and picture books—including The Day You Begin, Oglivy, Love Makes a Family, Antiracist Baby, and Love You Forever—on my students’ chairs. I would tell my students I have two adult children, “One is queer, and one is not, and I love them with all my heart.”
I would share my hope that their babies find delight in warm laps and good books, plus I would add a pair of fervent wishes. “May your children grow to discover and embrace their authentic selves, and may you harbor these words from Love You Forever in your hearts: ‘I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.’”
A few months ago, the Montana Book Festival 2021(MBF) was on tap to offer in-person and online events. Then in August, rising COVID rates in Missoula County compelled the MBFBoard of Directors to shift the entire Festival to virtual events.
On Saturday, October 16, China Reevers hosted the Montana Book Festival 2021 conversation with Eileen Garvin and me—“With a Little Help from My Friends: Writing Fictional Friendships.” I loved chatting with Eileen about our books—The Music of Bees and Perimenopausal Women with Power Tools—and the craft of writing. Our respective readings were highlights as well. In addition, the virtual format reached a wider audience, and the event was later uploaded to the Montana Book Festival’s YouTube channel.
Perhaps you didn’t have the opportunity to tune in. Or maybe you did, but you would like to revisit these questions:
Amy Knutson gourd and Karen Buley mirror
How did gourds, mirrors and a tweet shape Perimenopausal Women with Power Tools? What sounds like the parking lot behind the 7-Eleven? What might a budding orthopedic surgeon practice on? How long do honeybees live?
Find out the answers to these questions and more on the video below!
The past eighteen months reinforced the notion that life doesn’t always go according to plan. As Perimenopausal Women with Power Tools neared its pub date in spring, 2020, I envisioned a book release party. In addition to a short reading, there would be food, drink and conversation—a tribute to the lively evenings my characters shared throughout the book. I pictured additional book readings to follow. Then COVID-19 reared its ugly head.
Montana Gov. Steve Bullock ordered a temporary shelter-in-place. As I wrote here, I had much to be thankful for. Thus, scrapping a book launch seemed a small price to pay. While I hunkered in, I scoured how-to guides on do-it-yourself book trailers. Both teacher and student, this was my result.
Five months after Perimenopausal Women with Power Tools made its quiet entrance into the world, I hunkered in again—this time in an assisted living neighborhood. My eighty-nine-year-old mother had broken her pelvis. Though Touchmark, her senior living community, was locked down, administration welcomed me in as her essential caregiver.
Karen and Kay October 27, 2020
Once our two-week cautionary quarantine ended, we walked in and around the community, both with and without her physical therapist. My mom’s pelvic fractures healed in the fourteen weeks she and I bunked together. Sadly, her dementia worsened.
The week before she moved into a memory care unit, Mom had a front-row seat at the inaugural reading of Perimenopausal Women with Power Tools. Touchmark’s COVID-19 precautions remained in place, so the group was limited to a small number of masked and socially distanced residents.
Wearing both mask and face shield, I gazed at the audience and contemplated my mom. Her sparkling blue eyes shone with pride. As I began to read, a rush of heat coursed through me. I was reading to two of my biggest fans—one in person and the other in spirit. Mom’s eyes flickered shut at times, but she beamed during the applause.
Nearly eight months have passed since, heavyhearted, I packed my bags and returned home. The weeks I spent with my mom, culminating with two nights in memory care, were priceless. I treasure our continued visits. But with the uptick in Montana’s COVID-19 cases, I pray her community will not have to endure another lockdown.
This year’s festival pivoted from a hybrid in-person and online affair to an entirely virtual event. But again, as thousands continue to lose loved ones and struggle in innumerable ways, foregoing an in-person book event feels like a small price to pay.
My parents modeled flexibility and resilience. They also taught me the art of friendship. As a young girl, I didn’t realize the lessons I was gleaning when they hosted an array of friends in our cozy Missoula home. Three or four families would gather, assembling double-digit numbers of offspring. We kids would spill outside and engage in noisy games—the grown-ups settling occasional skirmishes—and some of those kids remain my lifelong friends.
A few years later in Butte, I remember watching with envy as my mom’s “Club” convened at our house. My father would scoot out before the first guest arrived. My siblings and I were allowed a bit of time with the ladies before they broke out the pinochle cards. Then, we would head upstairs to our bedrooms. Peals of laughter, the clink of ice cubes and wafts of cigarette smoke followed us up.
During our shared weeks at Touchmark, my mom didn’t always remember who I was. Sometimes she thought I was her friend Shirley. The name always made me smile. Two of the moms from those early Missoula years were named Shirley. But I was Shirley Reinig, a member of “The Church Ladies”—a newer group of Helena friends. My mom and Shirley were retired nurses and on occasion, Mom worried that we had to go to work. One night, she called from the bedroom minutes after I had helped her tuck into bed. “Shirley?”
Despite the dim light, I could see her furrowed brow as I approached the bed. She didn’t wait for me to respond before rushing, “Do you think we’re going to get canned?”
“No.” I stroked her cheek. “We have the night off.”
“Oh good.” She smiled, then closed her eyes.
Three of “The Church Ladies” celebrating Kay’s 90th birthday. Kay Antonietti, Shirley Reinig and Joanne Anderson-July 25, 2021
Yes, life doesn’t always go according to plan. So we pivot or punt and, if we’re lucky, we have memories to hold dear. I will forever cherish the irreplaceable weeks I spent with my mom. Lines from the movie Airplane hold new meaning now. And discovering that Mom would be moving into a memory care unit with two other Shirleys felt serendipitous.
Perimenopausal Women with Power Tools is dedicated
To My Friends New, Old, and In-Between
On October 16 at 2:00 PM MDT, Eileen Garvin and I will chat about crafting fictional friendships. Registration is free. So whether you live in Grants Pass, New York City or places in between, I hope you’ll join us.
Last month, I unearthed a large, cardboard box marked
“Christmas Extra” from beneath the stairs. Untouched for years, the box housed
a collection of kids’ art from 1989 on, plus nutcrackers, candles, wreaths, a
fabric reindeer, and assorted other decorations.
The pair of handmade books sparked a smile.
I had neglected to add the year to Eric’s book—certain, I suppose, I would never forget when he gifted us with Christmas Rhymes and Riddles. 1997? His cursive signature made that guess a good bet. Colin’s book, A Very Buley Christmas, was memorialized with a 2001 copyright date.
When our family of four reconnected this holiday season, we shared a laugh over Colin’s tongue-in-cheek dedication. But none of us could pinpoint the date of Eric’s book. “Didn’t you write another one?” I asked.
“Yeah—I wrote a book about leprechauns,” Eric replied.
I found Little Green Men yesterday, cocooned in a storage cube.
Eric, like Colin, penned his book in sixth grade. Beginning with preschool cookbooks, though, the boys had seen their names in print throughout the years. The prolific writer, Ursula K. Le Guin, wrote, “To have written a book is a very cool thing, when you are six or eight or ten years old. It leads to other cool things, such as fearless reading. Why would anybody who’s written a book be afraid of reading one?”
Much has been written about the importance of reading, not just for our youth, but for all of us. Thank you to educators that promote reading and writing. And special thanks to adults like Curtis Jenkins, who, after gifting a Dallas student with a shirt depicting one of her illustrations, said, “I’m hoping this T-shirt inspires her to keep on writing books.”
I’m hoping that young girl keeps writing books, too.
I sent A Shout-out to Books, Libraries, and Dolly Parton to Hellgate High School staff fourteen months ago. Since then, I’ve talked with fathers, mothers, and a grandmother who subsequently registered their children and grandchildren in Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library. Their smiles and enthusiasm were heartwarming and made me wish I’d been able to offer Imagination Library to my Lamaze students years ago.
At times I carted board books and picture books to class, one for each student to peruse as I pitched our public library and its special children’s offerings. I hoped those efforts resulted in some library visits, not only because of my lifelong love of reading and libraries, but because one of my parenting highlights involved my lap, two boys, and good books, which segued to sitting on the couch, bookended by Eric and Colin reading “a page and a page.”
Bedtime reading with Colin and Eric. 1992.
My days and nights of Lamaze classes, OB nursing, and read-alouds are long behind me. I miss the magic of birth, but I love the magic of books. Last week a teacher shared a conversation she’d had with her four-year-old grandson about a “chapter book” he’d recently finished, and about his pride at listening to longer books. We talked about Imagination Library, which prompted me to take another look at its website. Two days ago, the number of U.S. children (birth-age five) registered was 900,712. Today, that number has morphed to 939,462. Beautiful. I hope stories and books continue to thrill those kiddos into high school and beyond.
It is the time of year when many high school seniors are immersed in college applications. Some have ideas about what they want to pursue after graduation. Others do not.
As I worked my way through my final year of high school forty years ago, I knew I wanted to follow in my mother’s footsteps and become a nurse. A Butte Central classmate, Janet Finn, was planning to study pre-med. Another classmate, Leah Joki, had plans to undertake a fifth year of high school in Belgium, then come back and become a film critic. None of us envisioned that, years later, we would be authors.
1974 Butte Central Classmates Janet Finn, Leah Joki, and Karen Antonietti.
Last month, the three of us took a road trip back to our roots to read from our most recent works. We read at the Butte-Silver Bow Public Archives at noon and at the Finlen Hotel Copper Bowl Ballroom that evening.
Janet Finn, Leah Joki, and Karen Buley.
MINING CHILDHOOD: GROWING UP IN BUTTE, 1900-1960; JUILLIARD TO JAIL; NANNY ON THE RUN.
Janet, Karen and Leah signing books at the Butte-Silver Bow Public Archives.
Our audiences were a mix of people we knew and people we didn’t; of folks with longtime Butte ties and relative newcomers. At our evening reading, a three-generation family whom we did not know sat in the front row. We learned that the grandmother had penned a memoir about growing up in China and the Philippines during WW II. The dad, a Golden Gloves boxer, had coached prison inmates in the sport. The mom had worked as a nurse at Saint Patrick Hospital in Missoula, and their daughters—one in college and one in high school—aspired to become an actor and a writer.
Years have passed since Janet, Leah and I were the ages of those girls, and our lives are different than what we had imagined they would be. Janet teaches in social work, women’s studies, and international development studies at the University of Montana. Leah received an MFA in acting from the University of Montana last spring. She recently wrote and performed her one-woman show, PRISON BOXING, at Missoula’s Downtown Dance Collective. I, after a long and fulfilling nursing career, am working as a library media assistant in a Missoula high school. We all have works in progress.
To the girls who were seated in the front row at the Copper Bowl Ballroom, best of luck as you pursue your dreams. To Leah and Janet, our high school English teachers would be proud.
One of my annual highlights for the past several years has been attending the Montana Festival of the Book. I love everything about the Festival: readings and panel discussions; chats about the craft of writing and about the publishing industry; films; vendors and the Festival bookstore; and the opportunity to meet and mingle with authors, agents, editors, publishers, and other Festival attendees. As its website states, “The Humanities Montana Festival of the Book is one of the biggest cultural events in the Northwest.”
Often, one of the getting-to-know-you questions is, “Where are you from?”
“I’m from Butte.”
I grew up saying this, even though I was born in Missoula, Montana. We moved to Butte when I was eight, as summer vacation was nearing an end. My parents, Dan and Kay Antonietti, were born and raised there, so we weren’t lacking relatives. But being on the cusp of entering third grade, I wondered if it would be hard to make friends.
It wasn’t.
I made a friend before school started, which felt huge. I wasn’t welcomed as in the words of Teddy Roosevelt below, but to my eight-year-old self, the welcome I did receive on the playground of my Nana’s apartment complex was just as memorable.
Butte-Silver Bow Public Archives
For the next ten years, I lived, studied, played and worked in Butte. I went away for college, came back for the summer, and then after two more quarters on Montana State University’s campus in Bozeman, I was back in Butte to do my nursing clinicals.
Butte was the home I loved. After fifteen months back, though, I was a twenty-year-old ready to get out of Dodge for the summer. In June of 1977, I left to be a mother’s helper in New York City. I had no idea my summer would unfold as it did, nor did I have any awareness that years later I’d be compelled to write a novel based on that summer.
A novel, Nanny on theRun, which I recently read excerpts from in Uptown Butte.
My first reading was at the Butte-Silver Bow Public Archives, partially housed in the old fire station. As a young girl, I had the privilege of sliding down the fireman’s pole, courtesy of my Uncle Joe. It was a thrill to read my work near Uncle Joe’s old digs.
Intro by Ellen Crain at the Butte-Silver Bow Public Archives
Q & A following the reading
Between my two readings, I visited Butte’s indie bookstore, Books & Books. As I relayed the story of my novel’s trajectory to two booksellers, I mentioned that my early working title was Nanny on the Run: a Far Cry from Butte.
“You should’ve called it that,” said one of the women. “We get people asking all the time if we have Butte books.”
Hopefully the book’s description will capture readers who are interested in Butte stories. Though my character Bridget goes to New York City, she’s fromButte, and threads of those deep roots are woven throughout her story.
My second reading was at Headframe Spirits, across the street from the Elks Club. I grew up four blocks away. Bridget didn’t live far from there, either.
Home of Headframe Spirits
Headframe Spirits under the watchful eye and windowed reflection of Our Lady of the Rockies
Headframe Spirits is a place for tasty drinks and lively conversations. Owner John McKee was gracious when I asked about doing a book signing, and perhaps an accompanying reading, there. It was the most animated reading I’ve done to date, and I’m grateful I had the chance to read some of Bridget’s story in my old neighborhood.
With my parents at Headframe Spirits
I’m grateful, too, that my parents were able to travel to Butte for my readings. They’re still from Butte, even though they moved away nearly thirty-six years ago. I’m from Butte, too, though after having lived in Missoula for the past thirty-five years, I’ve begun to modify my answer.
In the past several months, YouTube has become one of my go-to sources for information. My old website, created more than six years ago, was in desperate need of being updated. YouTube videos, along with books from the Missoula Public Library, schooled me on how to create a website using WordPress.
As you peruse this site, you can judge for yourself the value of my self-taught lessons. I admit, I am pleased with the results.
I also learned how to use Windows Live Movie Maker by watching YouTube videos. Not only did I learn how to make a movie, I learned how to create snapshots from existing footage. Again, after looking at the picture that follows, you can be the judge.
Nanny on the Run reading
Nearly three weeks ago, I was introduced to the Prancercise video on YouTube. Then, it had more than three million views. I later learned that’s not so many, though to me, three million is a lot.
Days later as we joined thousands of Seattle Sounders fans marching into Century Link Field, my goal was to start a prancercising contingent. My accompanying friend and family told me they’d watch, and scooted away as I began my mission. I didn’t think it would be hard to find others who were willing to Prancercise with me.
I was wrong. It wasn’t that the three people I asked were unwilling, it was that none of them had seen the video nor knew what I was talking about. My three strikes reinforced what I’d been told earlier that day. Three million really isn’t that many in the YouTube world.
Perhaps if I had tried to rally some fans to dance Gagnam Style, I would’ve had better luck. The problem was, though I’d watched P S Y’s video, as have—I recently learned—more than 1.6 billion others, I don’t know his dance. I don’t know how to Prancercise, either, but I was willing to give it a try.
Since I’ve learned what I needed to about WordPress and Windows Live Movie Maker, it might be time to resurrect P S Y’s video.
YouTube, thanks for giving me the opportunity to laugh. To learn. And to share.
