Being a perfectionist, or living with one, can drive people nuts. And no one more than yourself. Whether it’s the temperature of the house at night, the texture of the pillowcases, or the exact right shade of new blue paint for the bathroom, decisions for perfectionists create stress.

My mother used to tell of one of her uncles, who would ask, “Is that clock slow or fast?”

“Neither, so far as I know,” she’d answer.

“You know it has to be one or the other. No way is it right on time.”

This is the way I am about temperatures all too often. Airplanes, in particular, are often too hot for me during takeoff and too cold once they reach a desired elevation. Layers work well, but are cumbersome when you need to peel most of them off.

In my novel, Joy After Noon, teenage Marianne torments herself by not living up to expectations set for ballet, gymnastics, and wardrobe…expectations initially set by her mother and now by herself. Her new stepmother, Joy, tries to help her relax, while also overcoming anxiety about not being as perfect a wife or mother as her husband’s first wife.
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A vacation in Fiji turned out nearly perfect for me. Here are some notes from my travel journal.
 
Fiji 2025 (St. Patrick’s Day)
Today the Auckland airport was the busiest I’ve ever seen. Who would have suspected St. Patrick’s Day to attract so many flyers? Hope to land shortly.

Next entry: Wednesday, March 19, 2025, Yasawa Chain, Mantaray Resort, Fiji

We landed safely in Nadi, Fiji, on Monday afternoon. Only a one-hour time difference between Auckland, New Zealand, and Fiji. Like the Auckland airport, the Fiji airport was very crowded. Long lines and lots of check points. We’d been careful to eat or throw away all our fruit and dairy products, having made this mistake before, though it hurt to surrender nearly a full pound of New Zealand tasty cheese (their name for cheddar).

We caught the shuttle to the Gateway Hotel. Though it’s just across the highway, we were packing two heavy suitcases, three carry-on bags, and my handbag (nearly as heavy), as well as sweaters, jackets, and coats. Fiji is nearly 90 degrees Fahrenheit, but we knew there might be chilly nights in Auckland or Los Angeles, and Tennessee was bitter cold when we left. Also, airplane temperatures are unpredictable.

The Gateway has no elevator, and they assigned us a second-floor room. Norm asked them to change, and fortunately one was available on the first floor. We dropped our bags, and I donned my swimsuit. I’d noted there would be no pool at the Mantaray Resort (I was wrong about that, as it turned out), so I wanted to take advantage of the large heated pool at Gateway.

Norm wasn’t hungry, but I, as usual, was. I ordered steamed wahoo with Asian greens, soy and ginger sauce, and sticky rice. Generous portions, and I shared with Norm.

Our boat to the island was scheduled for 8:45AM, so we got up early to check out. We waited at the bus stop, and the bus arrived on time. We’ve used Sea Cruises before, but I couldn’t remember the best place to sit. We started out on an open deck, but began to wonder if we’d get sunburned. After watching scads of people climb down into the cabin, I followed suit. There was only one empty row left, so I grabbed it. Before long, I realized it was virtually the only row with no window at all and no view. When motion sickness strikes, I always focus on the horizon, which I couldn’t see.

There were a number of stops before mine, so some of the seats began to clear out. We moved to a row in the middle with only one person seated. The TV monitors showed lots of photos of various resorts on the islands, alongside items for sale on the boat. I bought a chocolate mousse and Norm a coffee. Some of the passengers were day trippers, and we recalled a year in the past when we did that. That year we stayed in Nadi for the durations, but scheduled day trips to visit several islands. After that, we decided to stay on the other islands.

We’ve never been to Mantaray before, but we stayed at Octopus once, which is also in the Yasawa chain and, like Mantaray, has a mandatory meal plan. Norm and I typically do not eat three full meals a day except when required (can’t turn it down after paying for it). My Uncle Bill used to joke Colemans would take a case of the clap if it was paid for.

Because I worked in Auckland annually for a few weeks each year, from 2003 to 2020, I found that stopping off in Fiji really helped me adjust to the time change. A nice excuse for staying on a glorious island too. Most years I stayed in another chain of islands, closer to Nadi—most often at the Matamanoa Resort, Lomani, or Mana.

The boat arrived on schedule, around 11:30AM, and we were transferred to a smaller boat with a few other passengers and some workers. Our luggage traveled in another boat. “Bula!” is the traditional Finian greeting, and we were met by smiling faces. Fijian people must be among the kindest and friendliest I’ve encountered in any of my travels.

Our room was ready, a reef front bure. It’s quite lovely, and the sea is right at our doorstep at high tide. We have palm trees between us and the water and a hammock. The bathroom is also lovely but outdoors and quite warm most of the day. It’s attached and private, nothing like the outdoors toilets I remember from childhood, just open air. The bure, thankfully, is air-conditioned.

There’s only one restaurant, and it entails a host of steps. Another guest informed us that we might request to be served by the pool, so we did that one night for dinner. Today we mounted the stairs for breakfast but requested room service for lunch. It has yet to arrive. Oops, I think they are here now.

Just finished eating. Norm had Kokoda, and I had fish tacos. He had Kokoda yesterday also, and said it was the best he’d ever had. He chatted with the chef, a young guy from New Zealand, who turned out to be a fan of Clay’s series, Live to 100, about the Blue Zones where a disproportionate number of individuals lead healthy lives into their nineties and beyond. I had the poke bowl yesterday with marinated tuna. Both my lunches were good.

We’ve been snorkeling twice already. Yesterday the tide was very low when we went out, and I was tired. Nonetheless we saw the best coral we’ve seen in a long time, lots of different colors and types, some clown fish, several schools of fish, including a school of unusual needle-nosed fish. Today we saw a large colorful clam as well as a host of fish and coral. The tide was pushing us to one side, so I headed in against the tide. Norm swam with the tide a piece and then made his way to shore. We say and lay (he sat, I lay) in a hammock for a while watching the little white fish with brown stripes frolic near shore.

I plan to tackle the steps once more tonight for dinner, as our room doesn’t lend itself well to room service.

Later: For dinner I had linguini with squid (good but cold) and Norm had a beef curry dish. After dinner, as we walked back to our room, stars dotted the southern sky.
I asked for a late checkout, since our flight to the U.S. wasn’t until 9:30 PM. They gave me until noon, so we went snorkeling one last time. I saw another clam, or possibly the same one though it looked smaller to me. Once more we saw a lot of colorful fish and coral. The tide was pretty high and quite strong, so we didn’t stay out too long.

We showered in our room, even though the dorm showers would be available to us later, before checking out. We paid extra for one final lunch not included in the meal plan. I ordered the fish tacos again, but wasn’t very hungry. Then we lounged by the pool. I went for a final swim in the sea and picked up a couple of souvenirs for my grandkids Frankie and Silas: a pretty pink-toned rock and a piece of coral shaped like a dog.

“They’ll both want the dog,” I said. I remembered when Nikki and Clay were their age. Seemed like if I got two suckers, one yellow and one red, at the bank drive-through, they’d fight over who got which one. Turned out I was right about the dog.

The boat to Denarau arrived early, so we had to hustle to get our stuff together. About a three-hour cruise, and raining when we arrived. The weather had been glorious the entire time we spent at Mantaray Island. I had a nice chat with our hostess, Ennie, before we left, and she accompanied us to the boat, carrying one of our bags. A lot of the Fijians who work on the smaller islands have family on the big island and go home periodically, perhaps working a week or ten days and then have three days off, etc. Others commute daily.
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This may be my last post for 2025. Hope everyone has a great Christmas!
 

Ever wonder what it would be like if something wiped out our uniqueness, our individuality? This is the premise of the tv series Pluribus.

When I was a kid, I remember thinking that outside our family—where frequent quarrels, nagging, and complaining erupted—the rest of the people in the world led mostly content, normal lives.

Over the years, I would occasionally bump into a troubled soul, whom I still viewed as an exception. Most people, other than these few and those in my own family, surely led normal, content lives. Finally, it dawned on me that we’re all troubled souls, though each in our own unique way.

Now, when I see a child or a self-conscious teenager mortified by their own clumsiness, incompetence, or ignorance, I want to say, “Don’t waste a minute of precious life feeling that way. Nobody will notice, at least not for long. They are all too wrapped up in their own issues and anxieties and challenges.”

The older I get, the more often I see individuals with traits or physical features that remind me of other human beings. We are all so similar and yet so different. What a mystery that some people are able to write music in their heads, draw figures that practically burst from the page, or play the piano without having a lesson.

My grandmother used to say of a woman she knew, “She could make the piano talk.” I play piano, but I can't compare with that. Paul McCartney says he just woke up one morning with the tune to "Yesterday" in his head, and "Yellow Submarine" another day.

This all strikes me as strong evidence of a creator. Not just a contented, normal creator but an omniscient, omnipotent creator who is somehow able to make each and every one of us unique, far beyond my ability to imagine or understand. How miraculous is that?    

A central character in my novel, The Ticket, is fourteen, an age when most of us suffered frequent agonies over things we’d done or said, how we looked, or what other people thought of us. You can watch a two-minute trailer for The Ticket: https://vimeo.com/50187275
https://www.amazon.com/Ticket-Debra-Coleman-Jeter/dp/B0BZBB4TS8/ref=monarch_sidesheet

As you know, I’ve been posting a series of synopses of my upcoming publications from time to time. This one is called The Belle of the Bell City Bottom (working title). I’d love to hear your reaction to the synopsis as well as the title. I’m a bit worried that it might conjure up a totally different book from the actual one.
Synopsis: The Belle of the Bell City Bottom
Effie Shultz, born 1900 in western Kentucky, is far from a true southern belle. Rather, she is the youngest daughter in an impoverished family with too many children, claiming descent from Catherine the Great, eking out a living as sharecroppers. After her mother’s death, Effie—the only unmarried daughter—is expected to tend to her ill-tempered father and demanding brothers. She learns to enjoy controlling the boys and, to a lesser extent, her father. When she meets and falls in love with Dalton McClain, she’s torn between the drive to control him, as she did them, and a desire to be controlled.

Her inner conflict leads to behavior baffling to them both. Like It All Comes Down to This, The Belle of the Bell City Bottom focuses on strong-minded sisters, a dying mother, and the importance of family bonds and the past. It also shares nuanced character development with Properties of Thirst.

Afraid Dalton will think her too old to be marriage material, she lies about her age, a lie that haunts her until her death. Although Dalton comes from a line of rough, gun-toting drinkers, he seems gentle and kind. Having been abandoned by his father not long after his mother died, Dalton feels responsible for his younger alcoholic brother, Raymond. Time after time, Dalton rescues Raymond from bar fights and near-death encounters.

This devotion to family both endears him to Effie and arouses her jealousy. She fears she will never be able to take first place in his life when Raymond is so consistently needy. She flees from the Bell City bottom for a time to spread her wings as a career woman in Paris, Tennessee, where one of her favorite sisters is currently boarding. When Dalton shows up in Paris at Christmastime, Effie’s heart leaps with joy. The book follows their relationship over the years through and beyond the Depression. When their beautiful daughter, Marie, shows signs of manic-depressive behavior, Effie and Dalton unite in their desire for her happiness but not in the means to achieve that end.