Cinthia's Spinnings

Attention Pet Owners! (Warning: Rant Ahead!)

2010-07-15T21:38:00.004-04:00

Okay, I'm really ticked off right now. Today I had to deal with a bunch of intelligence challenged rednecks who can't possibly wrap their brains around the idea that dogs are LIVING CREATURES. Not once, but twice. I didn't know whether to "go postal" or cry.

If that statement is a revelation to you, yes, you read that right. ANIMALS CAN FEEL PAIN.

One SFBs decided 92* in the shade without a drop of water for 3 hours was a lovely temperature for his elderly bulldog. The dog ended up with heat stroke. I offered to call a vet AND PAY FOR IT MYSELF. The asshole turned me down flat, saying "she's done okay before". An hour later, after bathing the dog in ice water, her eyes were still glazed over, her tongue was purple and she was foaming at the mouth. That's when he finally decide it might be a good idea to take her to the vet.

Second idiot thought it would be fun to bring her chihuahua to a blood drive. When told the dog wasn't allowed in an area where medical procedures take place (DOH!) she handed it off to her kid who grew bored, then LOCKED THE DOG IN THE CAR!

Again, it was nearly 100* out.

The moment I saw the kid without the dog, I asked her where it was, she told me, and I ordered her to get the dog out of the car immediately unless she wanted a dead dog.

I don't usually resort to profanity, but these people are Effing Idiots!

PLEASE, please, I implore you...leave your pets at home where they belong. They're pets, not fashion accessories! Every year thousands of pets lose their lives because their owner had a brain fart or just didn't give a damn, and left them in the heat without water or locked them in a sweltering car.

Would you do this to your child or grandchild???? No? Then why would you do it to your pet???

She's Baa-ack!

2010-07-13T07:59:00.014-04:00

It's been over TWO years since I updated this blog. Oy, how time flies.

If this were fifty years ago, I'd now be considered a "senior citizen", having just passed that landmark birthday #50.

Funny, I don't feel "old". I don't think I act "old" and I certainly don't look "old". I'm just as weird, just as stubborn and just as prone to impetuosity as I was at sixteen. I just have a better vocabulary. LOL!

I see a lot of people each day, most of them strangers I've never met and will probably never see again. And with each one, I'm amazed at how time has affected them. Some I'd swear were old enough to be my parent, yet, their driver's license reveals them to be a dozen years my junior.

And of course, there are always the ones who you'd swear were youngsters and they're actually older, MUCH older than Yours Truly here.

How does it happen?

It's thoughts like that that keep me awake at night, pondering the mysteries of the universe. And I've put together a sort of Rogue's Gallery of celebrities who have either gotten sucked into the wrong end of the time machine, or who've managed to find the Fountain of Youth (and been too stingy to share). Here are just a few samples.

Marilyn was over forty in this picture...

While Maureen O'Hara is well into her eighties in this photo.

Mick Jagger, well...we know he has a very much grown up daughter and he didn't even start out as a young dad. Hmm...

And there you have it, just a sampling, as I said. Who are the celebrities you think look the best (without the help of Botox and Dr 90210)?

Do you have any personal friend who seem to defy time? What are their secrets? I want to know!!!

Post-Conference Recovery/Recap

2008-08-12T09:14:00.007-04:00

Okay, I’ve been back from San Francisco a week now and I think I’m finally over the reverse jet-lag that accompanies any rapid roundtrip transcontinental flight.

How, you ask, was National? In a word, great!

As I walked into the hotel lobby, I literally ran into my chapter mates, Ann Tripp and Elaine Sims. They had a car and I happily accepted their offer to accompany them sightseeing in the City By The Bay.

We lunched at Fisherman’s Wharf, where, thanks to Elaine, I discovered the delights of Dungeness crab. I may have defected from The Deadliest Catch forever.

At Nash Street and Bay, we found a Maritime Museum. As we strolled along, I caught my first glimpse of Alcatraz. I never realized it was so close to shore. No wonder inmates were always thinking they could escape!

But then…then I saw it--the Golden Gate! I got sooo excited. I yelped, jumped up and down and pointed, like a Sixties teen at the sight of the Beatles.

After Fisherman’s Wharf was a rollercoaster ride down Lombard Street—the crookedest street in the world. What fun! From there, we drove to Chinatown to buy souvenirs for the folks back home.

Wednesday, my roomies (Mary and Lee) and I had just enough time to run across town to the DeYoung museum at Golden Gate Park, where we saw some great exhibits, including one of MesoAmerican art and glass artist, Chihuly.

Wednesday night, the Literacy Autgraphing party was a tremendous success. I worked as an author attendant, meaning I ran and fetched whatever the authors needed…water, more books, etc… By night’s end, we’d raised over $58,000 for adult literacy.

Thursday evening, seventy or so of my Romance Diva friends and I met at Buca Di Beppo, a wonderful Italian restaurant just a block from the hotel.

All us Divas have a special “Diva Name”. Yours Truly is known as “Oh, say it’s so! Diva”. Since J Perry Stone, one of our newest baby Divas, didn’t have a Diva name yet, I got to christen her as “I have no filter! Diva”. She completely lived up to her new name and I’m pretty sure our table laughed harder and longer than any other in the group.

Throughout the conference, I spent quite a lot of time with J Perry, Manda Coll, Santa, Elodie, Lindsey and Terrio, all from Romance Vagabonds. What a fun group!

Manda, a librarian by trade, really missed her calling. She really should be one of those people who read books aloud for Books On Tape. She read snippets of a particular book aloud, much to our delight.

Saturday afternoon, a bunch of us were treated to lunch at California Pizza Kitchen by Julia Quinn, romance author extraordinare and an absolute sweetheart. With authors Elizabeth Hoyt, Sabrina Jeffries, Sherry Thomas and Laura Lee Gurkhe in attendance, we were truly in the presence of the Romance Writers version of “The Ton”. J

Sadly, I probably won’t be in attendance at next year’s conference in Washington DC, as I am playing the part of Mother of the Bride again next fall. But, in October my chapter will have it’s own conference, the much venerated Moonlight & Magnolias. It promises to be almost as much fun as National.

Thoughts of Spring

2008-04-02T22:32:00.003-04:00

Spring has arrived in my part of Georgia in a big way. We’re in the throes of our annual botanical orgy, where every tree is trying to outdo its neighbor in the area of pollen production.
Every surface is covered in a yellow green dust that plays havoc with human sinuses and the only respite is the occasional spring rainshower.

I suck down antihistamines religiously to ward off the dreaded sinus infections so common this time of year. Even so, I adore Spring. So full of things to see and full of hope for the future.

I love that the temperatures are warm enough to put away the space heaters that hummed all winter, and yet, it’s cool enough to avoid running up the utility bills by switching on the air conditioner.

Probably the most amazing thing about April is the flowers. March can be quite gaudy, really, all tarted up in vibrant yellow, pink and green, shouting “Look at me! Look at me!”

April is more refined, her write blossoms as elegant as any Society debutante. Looking out my front door, I can see white dogwood and azaleas, even white flowering cherry trees whose graceful limbs seem to reach for the sky.

Along the roadsides, wisteria creates a violet-hued waterfall amongst the winter-killed kudzu vines.

The lawn, which lay dormant all winter, has sent yellow green blades up through the reddish brown earth, and within days, has become a rich, verdant carpet.

Exploring the yard, I notice the fig tree has sent out a few experimental leaves, as if unsure whether to commit to coming out of hibernation for fear of being bitten by a late frost.

The dainty tea olive at the corner of the house tempts me with the transient, yet intense aroma of it’s delicate flowers, and I note with pleasure, an abundance of ripening buds on the rhododendron that holds court near the front door.

At the same time, I notice, with some trepidation, the gardenia bush, a plant beloved by many, but not by me. I find the fragrance of the waxy white flowers too cloying, too insistent. Even so, I can’t bring myself to destroy this plant which has stubbornly thrived, despite years of benign neglect on my part.

I make my way to the herb beds and smile as I think about the fresh chives I’ll be able to sprinkle over the top of baked potatoes.

All too soon, the responsibilities of my day take me back inside the house. Before I leave the garden, though, I pause to run my hand across the rosemary bush. I bring my fingers to my nose and inhale, eyes closed. The sharp, tangy scent takes me back to my childhood and for a moment, I’m transported to another time and place where life moved at a gentler pace, where dinner was made by mama and Spring lasted longer than an instant.

My Argument Against Water Conservation

2008-03-06T09:13:00.004-05:00

This story actually begins a few months back when The Husband reached for the knob of our front door and the whole apparatus fell out in his hand. The lock mechanism was well and truly broken, which necessitated a trip to the home improvement store and the purchase of a new exterior door knob assembly. The old lock was a keyed deadbolt with a secondary lock that could be locked from the inside or left unlocked. The new one works a little different.

Okay, now you might be wondering how this fits in with water conservation. And I admit, the title is a bit misleading, but bear with me.

The last two days, I’ve had to get up for work much earlier than my usual schedule to suck the blood of unruly high school students. It’s left me exhausted. I also suffer from chronic back pain which was exacerbated by the long days this week.

Last night, exhausted, I fell asleep and woke, quite reluctantly at 8:00 am this morning. I toddled downstairs, scrubbing my eyes with my fists, trying to keep from tripping over the dogs as I made my way to the kitchen.

I needed a cup of tea. Immediately.

As any tea enthusiast knows, you should warm the pot prior to use. I boiled some water, then swirled it around in the pot for a few moments. My first instinct was to just pour the water down the drain after warming the pot, but being the California Water Miser that I am, I thought a better purpose would be served if I poured the water into some plants I have sitting on the front porch.

I carried my beautiful Charles Sadler Limited Edition teapot across the house, garbed in my pink fuzzy robe and pink fuzzy slippers, opened the front door and stepped out into the crisp spring morning.

Birds were singing in the trees, down the street I heard a dog bark and in the distance, I heard the rumble of traffic on the main road.

After a moment’s appreciation for the day, I stepped out on to the porch, bent to pour some tepid water on my favorite Viola odorata when I heard a muffled snick.

I straightened, the realization hitting me in the head with all the force of a two by four. I clutched my teapot close to my breast and reached for the doorknob.

Locked.

The new door lock mechanism is such that if the door is opened from the outside with a key, it will remain unlocked. But if the locked door is opened by hand from inside, it will remain locked. A fact which, had I been fully awake and not operating on two days sleep deprivation, I would have remembered.

I was well and truly locked out.

Since it’s still officially winter, The Husband hasn’t done any mowing, so the grass is about ankle high. Resigned to my fate, I finished watering the plants, and hoping the neighbors wouldn’t see me, I hoisted my robe above my ankles with one hand, clutched my precious teapot with the other and made my way to the side of the house.

My toes began to get damp and cold from the dew-covered grass and the neighbors yappy little Chihuahua screamed at me as if I were a burglar. My own canine crew stood on the other side of the gate and waited patiently for mom to find her way back inside. I love how they trust me.

With one hand, I scooched aside the twin bowling ball sized rocks holding our gate closed while the forsythia bush and snowball tree clawed at me with spindly limbs. The other hand still clutched the warm teapot to my chest.

Inside the backyard, I once again had to grab my robe to keep it from brushing across the wet lawn and I navigated past emerging weeds, and other yard debris left from last fall. The dogs capered about me, happy to see that I'd returned. Roxy, the half-rottie, knocked into my legs, intent on getting me down on the ground to her level so she could show her proper affection.

I prayed The Husband had left the back door unlocked. I tried the door and to my dismay, it, too, was locked. In the pocket of my robe, I felt my cellphone. Who on Earth would I call? Dear Daughter (the elder) who lives quite close and has a key, was already at her job fifteen miles away. The Husband was on the other side of Atlanta. This situation called for immediate action and nobody but me to take that action.

But fate and the Good Lord smiled upon me. As I glanced around, I found the prybar The Husband had used last fall to remove some decking he wanted to replace. He’d forgotten the tool and left it laying beneath a fountain. I hefted the length of damp, dirty and rust-covered iron. It would suit.

With all the skill of an accomplished cat burglar, I set my precious teapot aside out of harm's way, and hunkered down in front of the door. Ignoring the warm, moist kisses bestowed on me by Roxy, I snaked the prybar through the doggie door and gently used the curved end to maneuver the door handle. With in a minute, the door swayed open.

Such a relief! I swept up the teapot and hurried to the kitchen.

Now, I sit, comfy and cozy in front of my laptop, sipping Scottish Blend tea from the faithful pot that stayed warm throughout my ordeal.

I’ve decided that while water conservation is a much needed and worthwhile endeavor, I shall no longer attempt to conserve such a puny amount while alone in the house. I’ve now installed a mini rainbarrel, if you will, on the counter. All water that isn’t consumed and isn’t contaminated will go into this container and periodically used in the garden—while The Husband is home.

I've Been Tagged

2008-02-19T20:13:00.004-05:00

By Tami Brothers

Now, I have to tell you all 6 UNimportant things about myself.

1. I had Lasik surgery on my eyes about 8 years ago. Before I had it, I was so blind I couldn't be fitted with soft contact lenses...they don't make them that strong.

2. Like Tami, at one point in my childhood, I lived in a camp trailer...but it was because my dad was building our house at the time.

3. I wrote my first "novel" when I was 11. On notebook paper. And I kept it in a 3-ring binder. It was horrible, but I wish I still had it. I'd love to see how my writing has evolved over the decades.

4. I still have my appendix.

5. I've never memorized the multiplication tables. I know, shame on me...

6. I can say "I love you" in 5 languages.

Okay, so now Michelle, Traci, Lauren, Christine , Gwen, and Ally, you've been tagged...

First Kisses

2008-02-16T09:27:00.002-05:00

Do you remember your first kiss?

I do, and I still get all swoony inside. I was a freshman, and Tony was a junior. Little did I know he had a reputation. Back when, he'd have been called a "rake".

Tony had some sort of built-in radar for the weak impala of the herd. High school terrified me, and I spent most of my time skulking around corners and hiding behind a book.

I didn’t have a lot of self-confidence back then, but I was a born flirt, and my inner flirty-girl had just gone into hiding for a while. Tony brought her back out into the sunlight. I soaked up his attention like a sunflower soaks up UV rays.

We’d flirt, banter, and I’d get all worked up, and then he’d disappear for days at a time--working his magic on some other girl, I later discovered.

Just when I thought it would never happen, it did. I was sitting on the bench of a stone planter in our quad area, reading. Out of nowhere, a voice whispered in my ear, I turned toward it, and there was Tony. He pressed his lips to mine and I was so astonished my jaw sagged open.

My first kiss…and it was in French!

Tony, I must say, was an excellent kisser. He set the bar so high, most of the guys I kissed after him never measured up. When he kissed me (and every other girl he kissed) he gave it 110%. No half-hearted, dry pecks—ever. But I never had to keep a Kleenex handy to wipe up the drool, either. And he left my tonsils intact. He was the Mary Poppins of kissers; Practically Perfect in Every Way.

We never dated, but Tony and I would sneak every possible opportunity to kiss. We’d lock lips in the library, behind the bleachers at Home Plate, in the gloomy hallway in front of my locker. One time, he even caught me unawares coming out of the girl’s bathroom. There we’d be, arms and legs tangled together until I couldn’t stand the tension a moment longer and I’d break away. It never went beyond kissing and some adolescent “feel ups”, but I loved it. I wasn’t allowed to date, so I didn’t have a problem with him not wanting to be my boyfriend. I was content with our secret liaisons.

Then, we were found out. Not by a teacher or some other adult, but by one of Tony’s other girls. She didn’t say a word. But I began finding unsigned notes in my locker warning me to leave Tony alone. Well, how in Hades can you leave someone alone when they won’t leave you alone?

I managed to ferret out that my rival was a girl named Tina. I showed Tony the notes. He just shrugged and said Tina had been smoking too much pot and was paranoid. I told him to leave me alone anyway.

Bless his heart, he did as I asked.

The following year, when I’d experienced being dumped by a boy for the first time, it was Tony who came to the rescue. He picked up the pieces of my broken, teenaged heart and glued them back together with kisses and tender touches.

By my senior year, I’d swirled through the male sex like grasshoppers through a wheat field. I learned a hard lesson; never date guys you go to school with. Living in San Diego, I had my pick of thousands of guys stationed at the Naval Training Center (aka The Zoo) Miramar Naval Air Station and Camp Pendleton. I enjoyed them, each and every one.

Tony had joined the US Army after graduating and I’d all but forgotten him. Then, one day he showed up on my doorstep, all handsome in his dress greens. He was in town visiting family and he thought of me.

We spent an entire afternoon and evening talking, going through my yearbooks and flirting. He met my family for the first time and had dinner with us.

Then he kissed me one last time and was gone from my life forever.

Do you remember your first kiss? Was it a wonderful experience that you cherish? Or do you still cringe at the memory?

Waffling About Valentine's Day

2008-02-14T08:21:00.003-05:00

I know a lot of people who get all bent out of shape when Valentine’s Day comes around. They argue that it’s all just a big marketing ploy to get people to buy stuff they neither need nor want in an effort to impress someone. Someone who either already knows how the other person feels or someone they hope will allow a furthering of intimacies in the relationship.

Other people, like Dear Daughter (the elder), who loves all holidays without exception, goes all out for Valentine’s Day and buys everyone she knows some sort of card or little gift as a reminder of her regard. She’s a retailer’s dream, that girl.

For myself, I straddle the fence with regards to Valentine’s Day. I don’t model myself after my child, but I’m not a curmudgeon about it, either. I usually buy my long-suffering hubby a card, make him a particularly toothsome dinner, etcetera…

He’s not big into cards, but he’ll usually buy me flowers, which he knows I love, and sometimes a DVD or a book I’ve been wanting.

But as the crew of the Romance Writer’s Revenge discussed today, Valentine’s Day is the perfect opportunity for Show, Don’t Tell. It’s all those little things during the year leading up to the Grand Gesture on Valentine’s Day that make the holiday genuine.

Back when I was a kid, back before cable tv, (gasp) computers and Political Correctness, we would spend the week leading up to Valentine’s Day decorating our little shoebox mailboxes and our little hearts would hammer with anticipation wondering how many valentines we would get.

And every year, my little heart would be broken because being the weird little geek that I was, I didn’t get many valentines. Often there would be only two in my little mailbox, one from the teacher and one from my best friend. And this after I’d gone to the effort to give one to everyone in my class.

Now, thanks to Political Correctness, every student, if they are going to participate, must give a valentine card to every other student in their class. No exceptions. So, there are no broken hearts, but at the same time, the weird little geek kid gets valentines from the kids who shove him into walls and the kid who wipes boogers on the back of his shirt. Can you feel the love?

So, how do you feel about Valentine’s Day? Love it? Loathe it? Have you made any grand gestures for the Significant Other in your life?

I Enjoy Being A Girl

2008-01-28T08:01:00.000-05:00

When I have a brand new hairdo
With my eyelashes all in curl,
I float as the clouds on air do,
I enjoy being a girl!

~~Rodgers& Hammerstein

I’ve always been a “girly-girl”. Even as a child, I’d wash my hands frequently while making mudpies and I insisted that my Sabbath dresses be bought at an exclusive child’s boutique and not the local department store.

But life has a funny way of changing our priorities.

I grew up, got married and had children of my own. Suddenly, the money I was spending on feminine indulgences, went to buy things like diapers, Onesies, and carseats.

I never complained. In fact, it wasn’t long before the girly-girl turned inward and I became quite content wearing mom jeans, stained t-shirts and tennies from K-Mart. I got my haircuts at “chop shops” and my cosmetics came from the dollar store.

It’s only been recently that attention has been called to my lack of fashion sense. Both of my now adult daughters felt it necessary to stage an intervention.

How sad is that???

Once I was forced to face the awful truth, I embraced change-and dollars…lots of them. (Insert horrified husband’s expression here.)

I’ve become obsessed it seems, with all the girly-girl accoutrements that I’d forgone for so long-as if I’m making up for lost time.

I get my hair cut at a rather Ritzy salon—and get highlights, too. My hair has never looked better.

I have “nails”, which require bi-weekly maintenance.

I can’t pass the Sephora store at the mall without going in…and coming out with a bag of goodies-and a credit card snapping with static.

I wear perfume-with a name that can be recognized.

My morning regimen, which used to take thirty minutes, now takes an hour and fifteen minutes. (I’ve timed it.)

I wear these really nifty jeans that fit well below my waistline and are a full two sizes smaller than my old mom-jeans.

I’ve developed a passion for jackets…you know, those little accessory things worn over tops and trousers?

I have a wardrobe of handbags.

I own more than one pair of shoes.

I wear pretty bras that fit properly. (You have no idea how much this one thrills me!)

My underwear is more flirty than practical.

I know all this sounds ridiculous to a lot of you reading this, but I’m really enjoying this stage of my life. I’m still relatively young.

Notice I said relatively. I’m no young chick, by any means, but I’ve still got a lot of life to live and this transformation from dud to diva has put a new spring in my step and a smile on my face.

I face the mirror each morning and I smile at myself as I smooth on the moisturizer.

Sometimes, all it takes is a little surface work to improve what’s underneath.

Best and Worst of 2007

2008-01-01T19:20:00.000-05:00

I’m sitting here, listening to my hubby “iTune-surfing” and since the first full day of the New Year is drawing to a close, I feel I should come up with some words of wisdom for everyone.

I’ve resolved to be a better blogger this year since in 2007, I was inarguably, one of the least dependable bloggers of the year. I could blame it on the j-o-b, but I can only take that so far... even *I* get days off.

Okay, so words of wisdom: Don’t be afraid to try new things.

In 2007 I tried several new things, some of which I even liked.

I tried snorkeling, and I liked it. I’m sure I’ll like it even better when I can find some clear water with colorful fish in it that aren’t hell-bent on sending me to the nearest emergency room for the latest in antivenin therapy.

I also tried sea kayaking. This is something I could really get into, provided I lived within a reasonable driving distance to a body of water larger than a reservoir. As it stands, my only contact with seawater occurs on a roughly annual basis.

I tried driving with a GPS navigation system and I love it. Every night in my prayers I ask God to protect my TomTom. No more getting lost when it’s pitch dark, raining, foggy, etc…

Stila illuminating foundation…love it!

Fat Hair shampoo and conditioner…love it!

Felina bras…the girls and I love them!

New author, Raven Hart…awesome!

And the very BEST THING I tried in 2007: being the proud mama of a newly pinned Registered Nurse! :)

One thing I tried that I didn’t like so much was a nasty thing called shingles. Great googly-moogly! How in the name of Hippocrates did they survive this hideously cruel and painful revisit of the chickenpox virus before IV drugs???

Can’t say I was crazy about that Miami Vice movie, but the boats were cool.

Marlin tacos…nope, didn’t like them, either.

Books written in first person, present tense, nope, still don’t like ‘em. (If you write these, sorry, just bein’ honest!)

Lying, weasly timeshare salesmen (yeah, I got suckered) but I suppose there are worse things in life. I did NOT buy a timeshare, and I walked out $150 and 4 bottles of tequila richer, but still didn’t like it much.

Windows Vista…unless they come up with some major fixes for all the flaws pronto, the next time I see Bill Gates, I'm going to give him a fat lip and tell him to pass it along to his design team.

Okay, so, my brave little readers, get out there and this year, and try something new, something different! Who knows, you might just love it…you might wind up with a “fractional ownership” in a condo in Cabo, but hey, you might like that, too!

Best Wishes for a Fantastic 2008!

Love,

Cinthia

All You Need Is Love.

2007-08-16T20:42:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, Liz Bevarly posed an interesting question on her blog about whether or not romance novels are unrealistic because they always have a happy ending. The comments got quite philosophical and got me to thinking.

Do we, as human beings require love to live happy, fulfilled lives?

In my opinion, yes, we, as human beings absolutely require some sort of bond, some sort of connection with another living thing to be happy.

Now, I'm not talking about just romantic or sexual love, but any kind of love, whether it's filial, the love of friends, or even the love one has for a pet.

In my life I've known quite a few people who have, for one reason or another, remained single throughout their lives and been happy and fulfilled. But they have friends, family and often pets to fill the empty place in their hearts that a mate would normally fill.

I've also known single people who are miserable examples of the human species. Not surprisingly, they've either shunned the love offered them in the past or they've gone out of their way to avoid any close relationships with other human beings. Now, they're like an old, barnacle-encrusted shipwreck. You see the shell on the outside, but inside, they're nothing but an empty vessel.

Another question that popped up into my brain was; Can the memory of a great love in one's past sustain a person for the rest of their life?

Occasionally my friends and I will talk about what we would do if we found ourselves suddenly single, either thru divorce or the death of our spouses. My automatic response is to laugh and say that I'd remain single for the rest of my life--it's too much trouble to *house break* another man. But in my heart of hearts, I wonder if that would really be the case. Would I stay single for the rest of my life, preferring the memories of my life with Hubby? Or would I eventually feel the need to seek out another special someone to keep the other side of the bed warm on a cold night and someone whose razor I can steal because it works so much better than mine?

So, what do you think? Do we need love to be happy, fulfilled people? Or can we get along just fine without it?

She's Got Books

2007-08-07T08:15:00.000-04:00

As I sit here, typing, I can look in any given direction and make "eye contact" if you will, with a book.

Romance novels, how to train your dog, books on religion, travel books, memoirs--you name it, I have at least one example residing either in a stack, on a shelf, in a box, or just hanging out here in the horrid little space of what will shortly NOT be my office.

Now that Dear Daughter (the elder) has moved across the city with her Tizzle (I kid you not), and the-cat-without-a-tail, there's an empty room in my house, that is begging to be occupied.

Said room has an excellent view of the back yard, and is now a gorgeous shade of Aegean blue with bright white trim. In two weeks, it will have new carpet the color of sand, and Roman shades made of bamboo covering the windows.

In the meantime, I've been collecting boxes like a squirrel collects nuts, in the hopes that I can put some order to my "Library".

I have doubts there are enough bookshelves in Georgia to hold all the books I own. Therefore, some of my precious pets will have to go to new homes.

Some are going to a nifty little store called "Books For Less", where I can get store credit to buy other used books to replace the ones I turned in. Some, that I decided for whatever reason not to read, will be dusted off and given to Miss Mary for her to use in our monthly raffle baskets to raise money for literacy here in Georgia. And a lucky few will be given to a local nursing home to brighten the lives of the residents.

But mostly, the books will just get put in a box for a few weeks, then reshelved in my new digs once it's ready for occupancy.

To add insult to injury, Michelle Buonfiglio, of Romance: B(u)y The Blog, suggested the most intriguing book yesterday, and now, I know I must have it. Check her site out if you're curious.

So, are you addicted to books? Do you have so many they sit in stacks around your house and get dusted like a piece of furniture? What's the last book you read? Love it? Hate it? Why?

The Girls

2007-08-01T09:27:00.000-04:00

This is our Alpha Girl...Sunni. We "think" she's a Corgi/Spitz cross and is almost 10 years old. She rules the roost.
This is Roxy, aka "Rockhead". Part Rottweiler and part "sneaky-dog-next-door". She has a fiber fetish...she'll steal yarn and unspun wool from me at every opportunity and fling it about like confetti if given half a chance. She's decided she is MY dog.
Last, but certainly not least, is Pepper Ann. I got her at a flea market (I kid you not!) known as Dog Days in rural Tennessee. She's a rat terrier and probably the most timid dog on the planet. She does love her comfort. Despite the fact that I rescued her, she's most definitely hubby's girl.

Hug Your Kids

2007-07-23T07:53:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes right now.

A fellow Blogger and Bella, Rachd, will be saying goodbye today to her beautiful baby, Hannah, today. Hannah's life here on Earth was cut tragically short when she died in a swimming accident this past Thursday.

A devoted mom, Rachd blogged about her life with her two beautiful daughters, Hannah and Lily.

My two girls are now grown and I'm a little sad that I didn't have the opportunity to do the same thing, since the computer age was just beginning when they were born.

As a mom, though, I naturally fretted and worried over my girls. Every time they went to camp, on a field trip or I had to leave them for any extended period of time, I wouldn't be able to take an easy breath until they were once more under my protection.

I realize now how silly that was. Things happen, and you can't protect them from everything.

Now, my girls are adult young women on their own. One is married and living in California and the other is living across town.

How I wish I could take them both in my arms and squeeze them tight.

I'm going to call them both today and remind them to be careful out there--because I love them and want to have them around for a long, long time.

The Romance World Loses an Icon

2007-07-07T22:00:00.000-04:00

Quite often, when asked “What was the first romance novel you ever read?” women (and a few men) will reply “Kathleen Woodiwiss’s The Flame and the Flower.”

I can’t make that claim. The first romance novel I ever read was Kathleen’s Shanna, first published in 1977. A few years later, Ashes In The Wind was released and I was so impressed with the gutsy heroine, Alaina MacGaren, that I named my second daughter Alaina. She’s every bit as gutsy and courageous as the fictional young woman she was named for, too.

As much as her fans would have loved her to be more prolific, Kathleen often took years to write a book, and even stopped writing all together for several years.

A few years ago, she began writing again, and, according to her son, Heath, she’d completed a manuscript before her untimely death yesterday, July 6^th, 2007. If all goes well, it will be published in November of this year.

Sadly, Kathleen didn’t see herself as “a great orator”, so she rarely spoke in public or held workshops. I, for one, wish, this hadn’t been so, for I’d dearly have loved to learn the secrets behind her wonderful characterization and well-developed plots.

Kathleen, we’ll miss you and your stories. May your family be comforted by the knowledge that you hold a deep affection and admiration in the hearts of your fans around the world.

Friday Fourteen

2007-06-15T08:35:00.000-04:00

There's this "thing" going round lately called the Thursday Thirteen, where bloggers list thirteen things that have gone on in their life during the past week.

Well, since I was working yesterday and couldn't post anything even if I'd been inclined, I decided to do something a bit different...so here's my contribution to the world of listmaking:

1. Saturday the whole family crammed into dd (the younger's) rental car and we all headed for the cousin's place in Tennessee for a visit. Stopped at a dairy outside Anniston, AL, bought yummy cheese and chocolate milk.
2. Saturday afternoon, a feast fit for royalty! Homemade hummus, salad from the garden, baked macaroni and cheese...awesome...and great company! We ate and talked...then ate and talked some more until it was time to go to sleep. I really enjoy my visits with family.
3. Sunday we hung out at the cousin's place. Took cousin Bill's VW up the mountain to the cabin, where he got drilled in the eye by an angry wasp. DD (the elder) spent a good deal of time de-ticking the farm dogs.
4. Sunday afternoon. After a lunch of grilled burgers and chocolate cake, we packed up the car, where we made room for lots of plants courtesy of Cousin Jon, and trekked back to Atlanta. Much whinging on the part of DD (the elder) as she was squished between hubby and I. To placate her, we stopped so she could buy fireworks.
5. Monday, saw dd (the younger) and her hubby off for their trip back home to LaLa Land. Miss them terribly. Won't see them again until December when DD graduates from college and gets her RN degree.
6. Monday, drove home from a blood drive in Madison, right into the clutches of a major storm. Got pelted with hail the size of boulder marbles and thought my windshield was going to shatter. I took shelter beside a semi-truck and crawled at 30 mph home. Sleep required the use of drugs to quiet my shattered nerves.
7.Tuesday worked a blood drive at a church in Loganville. They put on a wonderful "refreshment" table. Best banana pudding you ever ate!!
8. Wednesday, got up in the wee smalls to work up in Gainesville. Spoke with Julianne, future Godess of Regency Romance...she kept me company on my drive to Athens.
9. Tuesday, after blood drive in Gainesville, drove to Athens to take a test on Personal Protective Equipment. ~~sigh~~ pretty pathetic when you have to be told how to put on a lab coat!
10. Tuesday evening, went to Costco and the Farmer's Market to get some provisions. I have a full fridge and nothing to eat! We Americans are so wasteful!!
11. Thursday, got up again in the wee smalls...this time for a blood drive at the local police department. I had the early shift. Not bad, and I enjoy this blood drive. It's nice and relaxed and the people are great. We got 10% over our goal, which was nice.
12. Thursday. Got home around 1:30 in the afternoon, tried to work on my writing and fell asleep at my laptop. Must have slept a couple of hours.
13. Made dinner for the first time this week. Stuffed chicken breast with Sesame glaze and green beans. Yum. After dinner, I went out to the garden and put together a birdbath out of terra cotta pots and saucers. I hope the birds like it!
14. Friday...I'm off today. I was on float and didn't get called, so as of 8 mins ago, I'm free. It's been raining this morning, so if it clears, I'll go out and plant my banana trees and the plants Jon gave me.

Musings of a Perpetually Exhausted Brain

2007-05-21T07:48:00.000-04:00

Not sure what the deal is lately, but I seem to be chronically exhausted.

I think it started a little over a week ago when Her Royal Highness, Princess PITA, the old lady dog, got sick and kept us awake two nights running.

I had my first Saturday off and ALONE at home in what felt like YEARS (probably was years!) and was looking forward to spending it in my bower, sipping coffee and getting a writing contest entry polished up.

Instead, I spent the entire morning and well into the afternoon at the vet's office. HRH had a roaring urinary tract infection, pancretitis (thanks hubby for feeding her junk food! ) and some sort of weird ataxia thing going on with her balance. So, two hundred dollars poorer and 6 hours later, we went home.

Since then, I've felt like I just can't catch up on my sleep, even when I get a full night's rest.

Then, just for fun, last night, I had the mother of all nightmares, involving birds, the SWAT team, a lawn that threatened to swallow me, a GRW chapter president who flung plastic dog turds at me,(is that some sort of metaphore or what???) and a synopsis that refused to come together.

For the first time in my life, I was actually happy when the alarm clock went off-- for about half a second...then I realized I still hadn't figured out that #$#$#%$ synopsis!!!

Lady Cinthia's Bower

2007-04-28T07:33:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time there was a beautiful, but sad lady. She was sad because there wasn't a single room in the castle she could call her own. She dearly wanted a place to dream, to escape from the cares of work-a-day life and to write down the wonderful stories that lived in her imagination.

The Lord of the castle, being a somewhat enlightened man, noticed his lady wife's sadness and asked what he could do to cheer her up. "I want a place of my own," she said.

While he went about his lordly duties he thought of what might please his lady and one day he found the perfect solution. He would build her a lovely bower.

And build it he did, with his own two hands and all the tools at his disposal.

Upon seeing it, his lady wife showered him with kisses and proclaimed it the most beautiful bower in all the land. She thanked her lord husband with great enthusiasm and from that day forth, whenever weather permitted, she spent time every day inside her beautiful bower, listening to the birds sing, dreaming her dreams and writing the wonderful stories of her imagination.

All Decked Out and Ready for Summer

2007-04-22T11:08:00.000-04:00

As I write this, I'm sitting outside with my feet up, a sunhat on, and my laptop where it should be--in my lap. And I'm watching my dear sweetie build my Mother's Day present. (I get up occasionally and hold the tape measure, hand him nails as needed, and provide cold beverages and food, so I'm not a complete sloth.)

"What could he be building?" you wonder.

He's building a deck for the pavillion we bought a few weeks ago.

Here in Georgia, as soon as the freezing weather abates, the mosquitoes, gnats and other perils of southern living emerge from hibernation and proceed to make outdoor life hell for anyone who dares venture past the confines of their domicile.

The pavillion will provide a haven from these fearsome beasties, as well as shelter from the sun. The plan is to run electricity for lighting as well as power for my laptop and the blender, which will render delightful frozen concoctions with which to cool the tongue and inspire the imagination.

Are you an outdoor type person, or do you prefer distancing yourself as far away from nature as you can? Do you have a favorite spot where you feel perfectly at ease? Tell us about it?

Parlour Tricks

2007-04-13T08:38:00.000-04:00

All my life I've had "hot" hands. That is, they're warmer than the average person's. I've used this to my advantage since working as a vampire--warmth makes blood flow very nicely in cold fingers.

Well, yesterday I had a donor who thought this little phenomenon was rather interesting, so I showed him how I can make him feel the warmth, even if I don't physically touch his skin. I "sandwiched" his hand between my two hands with about an inch of space between. Within seconds his hand began to get VERY warm.

It was at this point he confessed that he's into paranormal research and asked if he could perform a little experiment on me. So, when I had a break, he pulled out some sort of meter and a laser thermometer. First he pointed the meter at a control subject...it didn't really do anything. Then he pointed it at me...the meter went nutso.

Second, he used the laser to measure the control's skin temp. Then he had me do my thing with the hands...the guy's skin temp had gone up 4*F in 10 seconds!! LOL!

I always knew I was a little odd...

Sunni, the old lady dog, showed us a trick of her own at 11:45 last night, while hubby and I were fast asleep. (Warning, if you have a sensitive stomach, you might want to stop here.)

I've told hubby time and time again about giving the dogs junk food...maybe now he'll listen. He gave them each a couple bites of salami last night and it apparently disagreed with Sunni's digestion.

Just as we were falling asleep she jumped up on the bed and snuggled up between hubby and me--she NEVER does this, so I knew something was afoot. She positioned herself with her head right near hubby's. I fell asleep and an hour or so later--it happened.

I was dead asleep, and when hubby jumped up out of bed, shouting like the house was on fire. It took me a moment to figure out that he was telling me that Sunni had yarked all over his head. I turned on the light and sure enough....

Twenty-Seven Things I Wish For

2007-02-27T08:19:00.000-05:00

1. I wish I had thicker eyelashes.

2. I wish my BIL would move out of my house.

3. I wish I had some “alone” time each week.

4. I wish I could get more writing done each day.

5. I wish our finances were better organized.

6. I wish I had more time for friends.

7. I wish I could write for a living.

8. I wish my sister and I lived closer to each other.

9. I wish I were a tidier person.

10. I wish I had better eating habits.

11. I wish I didn’t have to take so many meds.

12. I wish my back and knees would stop hurting.

13. I wish my potbelly would go away.

14. I wish I were more physically active.

15. I wish I could grow attractive fingernails.

16. I wish my husband weren’t so needy and in demand of my time and energy.

17. I wish I were more of a risk-taker.

18. I wish I had acreage so I could have sheep and goats.

19. I wish I lived in California again.

20. I wish I had more confidence in myself and my abilities.

21. I wish I could learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes.

22. I wish I was better at standing up for myself.

23. I wish my teeth were whiter.

24. I wish I weren’t so forgetful.

25. I wish I’d stop procrastinating about sending out my work.

26. I wish I’d get published and hit the NYT Bestseller list.

27. I wish my mom and dad were still alive.

This started out as a simple writing exercise from the book The Right to Write, by Julia Cameron. At first, I had a really hard time thinking of things to put down, but then I just relaxed and let the thoughts come to me and surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly) I learned a few things about myself.

There are a few things in there that are pure vanity…like the eyelashes, the potbelly and the whiter teeth. But who doesn’t desire to be their most attractive self, even in “middle age”?

There’s definitely a self-confidence issue at work here. (See items 17, 20,22,24 & 25). These are things that I absolutely have the power to change in an instant, but for whatever reason I haven’t yet.

I’m also very jealous of my time. I resent it when my time is spent on things that aren’t personally satisfying to me. I find myself getting angry when I’ve set aside a certain amount of time for something and had the rug snatched out from under me and I’m stuck doing what someone else wants me to do. And I think it’s mostly because unless I’m sitting in the car, driving to or from work, I’m NEVER TRULY ALONE. There’s always someone at my house (see item # 2) and the job I have now is so time-consuming that I have very little, if any free time besides weekends, and sometimes not even those.

This is a nice segue into the whole “needy husband” thing. I believe I married the most dependent man on the face of the planet. I love him and it thrills me that he wants to spend time with me, but at the same time, it drives me bonkers that he doesn’t have any male friends to hang out with occasionally. On top of that, when I do assert myself and demand time to do things by myself, he does his level best (consciously or unconsciously, I have no idea) to make me feel guilty about it—which in turn, feeds back into the self-confidence issue.

I also have a VERY bad habit of letting thoughts that pop up in my brain flow out of my mouth without thinking of the damaging effects it could have on me—or others. Sometimes it’s gossip, sometimes it’s an opinion (and you know what they say about those!) and sometimes it’s just plain old yakking.

For example, last week, I got a “counseling” form written up on me because I failed to follow protocol at work. I signed it without really thinking about it, and went right back to my duties. As I worked, I thought more and more about that form, and my ire grew. It was so unfair! Terry, a new TMS, happened to be close by and I mentioned it to her. The next thing I know, I’m being pulled aside by the acting TMS (not Terry) who told me that if I have a problem with something, I’m not to go around discussing it with staff. As much as I love Dora, I’m still a little annoyed, as I felt I’d been falsely accused in that I didn’t discuss it with “several staff members” as she said—only one and she was a TMS also and I’d asked her advice on how to handle my irritation.

But I digress…the point is, I don’t know how to keep my big mouth shut. It’s almost as though if I DON’T say something, I’ll explode. I’m at a loss as to how change this.

There is also a sense of longing for what most likely cannot be in my wishlist. I know perfectly well that unless hubby wins the lottery or I hit the NYT bestseller list (in hardback no less!) I’ll never move back to California and have enough land to keep sheep and goats while I write for a living.

And nothing is going to bring back my parents…no matter how much I miss them.

“So what do you do?” to quote Shirley Valentine.

What you do is you keep on keeping on. You do your best each day. You pray for patience, for persistence, for guidance, and you live each day to the fullest with the knowledge that there might not be a tomorrow.

Relatives and co-workers may irritate the life out of me, but at least I HAVE relatives and I have a job. I have the ability to write and if I persist, someday, who knows…maybe I will hit that NYT bestseller list. But if I don’t write, I’ve completely omitted that option forever.

So, what do you wish for? Leave a comment and let's talk about wishes.

Reflections of the Year Past

2006-12-31T10:45:00.000-05:00

With 2006 coming to a close and me not having been as productive as I’d like, blog-wise, I decided to sit myself down and reflect on how life has been for Yours Truly this past year.

This time 365 days ago (more or less) I sat here, full of self-righteous anger at being laid off from a job I adored. Little did I know at that moment that I would play a frustrating game of donkey and carrot for six months with me being the poor hungry animal and a job being that elusive golden vegetable.

Finally, salvation came in the form of a position with the American Red Cross and while they’ve worked me to death the past five months, I’ve been very grateful to have this job. It’s allowed me to put food on the table, pay my bills and to buy a new car that was desperately needed.

At the close of 2005, I finished my sixth novel and this year, while I haven’t finished a seventh, I’ve started it, and been busy doing requested rewrites on last year’s effort.

My family is healthy and for that, I’m extremely grateful, though my beloved Uncle J gave us quite a scare with his heart back in the spring.

My younger daughter finished her first year of nursing school at the top of her class and will graduate around the middle of next December.

My older daughter transitioned from the building industry to more of a corporate job with a nice increase in perks as well as pay.

Needless to say, I’m very proud of both my girls.

For myself, all those hours behind the wheel, driving back and forth to blood drives, have given me plenty of “plotting” time. The creative well seems to be overflowing these days with ideas and I’m sure I could spend the next five years writing books based on the ideas generated during those commutes.

I’ve committed to doing a bit more volunteer work with Georgia Romance Writers, having written two articles for The Galley and I’m now the tape librarian.

In just two weeks, hubby and I will be departing for a cruise to the eastern coast of Mexico, Belize and Honduras to celebrate our 28^th wedding anniversary.

Look for pictures, as I’ll be taking not only my regular camera but a waterproof one for some underwater shots when we go snorkeling.

Last, but not least, I want to give a great big cyber hug to a couple friends.

Miss Mary, critique partner, surrogate mommy when needed and bestest buddy, I love you and am so glad to have you in my life.

Michelle, Web Mistress Extraordinaire, thanks a bazillion times over for all you’ve done for me this past year! I couldn’t have done any of this without you. You Rock!!!

With Best Wishes to All that 2007 brings you all the love, beauty and prosperity that life can bring,

Cinthia

The Gift of Life

2006-09-06T16:25:00.000-04:00

I saved a life today…maybe more than one.

How did I perform this miraculous feat? Simple. I donated blood.

The past few years, every time I’ve gone to donate, I’ve been a quart low in the hemoglobin department (that’s red blood cells and not having enough means you’re anemic).

On July 4^th, my hematocrit, the percentage of red blood cells in my blood, was 34%, not enough to allow me to share. So for the past two months, I’ve been pushing the dark leafy greens, popping iron pills and vitamin C and eating a fair amount of lean red meat. Today, my efforts were rewarded. My count was at 40%! So, I got to share the wealth.

It was really a simple thing to do. I walked into the donor center—actually, I was already there to get signed off for making up collection sets since I work for the Red Cross—and they gave me some literature to read.

Soon, a technician came over and introduced herself. We went into a room where she asked me a bunch of questions about my health and then she took my vital signs. (Temperature, blood pressure and pulse). Then she did a quick fingerstick to check that hematocrit. Once we were done and I’d been given the go ahead, we went out to the donor room and I reclined in a comfy lounge chair, kind of like the ones you see by your average swimming pool.

She swabbed the inside of my elbow with an iodine solution (there’s an iodine-free swab for those who are allergic)and before I knew it, she had the needle in and was instructing me to squeeze the handgrip every five to ten seconds.

Six minutes later, I was done! That simple. She even used pink coflex (that’s the stretchy bandage stuff that keeps the gauze over the venipuncture site) so it would match my clothes.

At the canteen table, I chatted with other blood donors while I drank grape juice and ate some Nutter Butter cookies, then I was on my way home.

In two weeks, if my platelet count (that’s the part of your blood that helps it clot if you get cut) is high enough, I can donate again just for those. And in 56 days, November 1, to be precise, I can donate whole blood again.

It gives me a really good feeling to know that a baby, or a cancer patient, or an accident victim, or some other person in need is going to live because of me…someone they don’t even know.

So, be someone’s hero--donate blood. And if you can’t, encourage someone else to donate in your place. After all, you never know who might receive that blood. It could be your best friend, your spouse, your own child perhaps... or even YOU.

New Adventures

2006-08-13T08:00:00.000-04:00

I know it’s been ages since I updated my blog. Sorry for the absence.

A LOT has happened since July 4^th. It turns out that was a very fateful day for Yours Truly.

The Mall of Georgia, where we spent the day, had a lot of activities, one of which was a blood drive by the American Red Cross. I decided to donate a unit.

While I was getting my paperwork processed, I mentioned that I was an out-of-work phlebo to my technician, a great guy (and a cutie, too, I might add) named Travis. He suggested that I take my resume, along with a cover letter to the RC office in Athens.

Being desperate for a job, I did what he suggested the very next day and wound up being interviewed by the technician supervisor and the district manager.

A few days later, I got a temp job with a medical billing company. The work wasn’t exactly thrilling, but the people who work there are incredible and better yet, I got PERMISSION TO WRITE when I wasn’t busy—that was a LOT of the time!

I also attended the RWA National Conference which was held this year here in Atlanta.

I did a lot of networking. Met some great new friends! (Hi Squawkers!! Hi Divas!! Waves wildly) And attended the Literacy Autographing Party. That picture at the top is Yours Truly schmoozing with La Nora.

This picture above is my new friend, Vicki Elabd. Vicki is American, married to An Egyptian. She lives part time in Egypt and part time in New York State.
Above is Moi, with Best Selling author, and all around Sweetie, Christina Dodd.
Eloisa James, Christina Dodd and Teresa Medieros--exactly one half of the Squawk Radio crew. What a great bunch of gals.
Margaret Hite, one of my roomates, me, my CP, Mary, and our classmate Debbi Michalak after the Rita Awards ceremonies. Too bad you can't see the ginormous chocolate fountain in back of us!!
Someof the gang at the Squawk Radio luncheon. That's Connie Brockway in the center. Just to the left her, in the striped dress is the famous J. Perry Stone, my new buddy. We have LOT in common!!

One very important thing that happened at National was that I had an editor appointment and an agent appointment. Both of them were very interested in the projects I pitched and have requested partials. (Happy dancing)

Sadly, I also learned that the dear lady who introduced me to RWA, passed away about two years ago. Her name was Gwen Cleary. I hope she knew how grateful I am to her for telling me about this wonderful organization that has kept me moving forward in my quest for publication.

Back home from National, I discovered that my temp job would probably be offered to me as permanent position. Thinking about it, I decided things could be worse. I could hate the job, hate the people and be unable to write in my spare time, or too stressed out to write at all. So, I concluded, if they DID offer me the job, I’d accept.

Monday evening, I was at the doctor’s office and to my mortification, I’d forgotten to turn off my cell phone. I scuttled to the foyer to answer it.

It was the District Manager from the Red Cross wondering why I hadn’t returned Human Resources call.

Long story short—she was offering me a job!!!!!

So, tomorrow morning I start school—again. But this time it’s only for 3 weeks, then I begin work as a blood collection technician for the American Red Cross.

As a footnote, I’d like to stress how vitally important blood donations are.

I lost my dad just before Father’s Day and ironically my birthday in 1998. He died from a rare condition called Myleodysplastic Syndrome. It’s now classified as a type of blood cancer.

If it hadn’t been for blood transfusions and platelet transfusions, he wouldn’t have lived long enough for me to get on a plane and fly out to California and be with him for the last weeks of his life.

My sister, along with our aunt, (his baby sister) and I took him around to all the places he loved when he was a boy. We reminisced about his childhood, he told us things about when we were growing up and we said all those things you want to say but never do.

So, the next time you see a sign advertising a blood drive, stop and donate. You never know whose life you’re saving.

Well, that's all the news that's fit to print for now. I'll pop back on this weekend for a quick update from school.

Please leave some comments so I know you're all still alive out there. Some times I feel like having a blog is like having goldfish....if you forget to feed them, they die.

Happy 4th of July!

2006-07-04T09:08:00.000-04:00

Today we celebrate 230 years of American Independence. I hope you all have something wonderful planned.

Back when I was a kid, living in San Diego, the "big thing" for any given summertime get-together, was to go down to Mission Bay Park or to Mission Beach.

The day would start out early by packing up a picnic feast and the hibachi grills. The first to arrive would save as many parking spaces as we needed.

Then the kids would all strip down to swimsuits and play in the water while the poor adults schlepped back and forth getting coolers, beach chairs, umbrellas and all the other acoutrements of a day at the beach set up.

Soon, the salt tang of the air would be enhanced by chicken, steak kebabs, burgers and hotdogs doing their thing on the little hibachi grills.

By 11:30, we kids would be starving and would begin pestering our parents for a snack. Doritos and beandip was a favorite, along with all the Shasta black cherry soda and rootbeer we could drink.

Come lunchtime, our hunger sated for the most part, we kids would nibble at a chicken leg, eat a few bites of potato salad and usually drop at least one hotdog in the sand before we were ready to hit the water once more.

Mom knew, of course, that going swimming right after eating would cause stomach cramps that would likely paralyze us to the point of drowning, so we were relegated to spending an hour on the beach looking for sand crabs, attempting (usually in vain) to pry limpets off the rocks and chasing seagulls.

By evening, exhausted from all that hard playing, someone would build a bonfire in the fire ring so thoughtfully provided by the city, and we'd roast marshmallows while we relaxed.

Sometimes, we were lucky enough to spend July 4th there and we'd be treated to the spectacle of fireworks bursting in the air over San Diego Bay, with the Navy ships silhouetted by the bright light from each exploding rocket.

After the Grand Finale, we'd begin packing up and we kids would chatter excitedly about which particular part of the fireworks we liked best.

Roughing It

2006-06-30T08:14:00.000-04:00

The title of this blog comes from a thread on a writer's board I frequent. I read it and thought I'd expound on my idea of "roughing it."

For me, roughing it isn't something as mundane as only having 4 television channels to watch, or using an inferior product...

My idea of "roughing it" is having my technological toys taken away. Since my first daughter was an infant, I've relied on microwave ovens to decrease the time I spend in the kitchen. The same with my dishwasher...though I could get away without one now, since hubby and I are more or less "empty-nesters".

But more than anything, I probably could not function and would be reduced to a quivering blob of protoplasm, curled up in a fetal position under the bedcovers, sucking my thumb and whimpering if my computer were taken away.

This little wonder has introduced me to new friends, given me a better way to express my creativity, and given me tools to do research, find recipes, catch up with old friends and learn new things.

This morning, I went downstairs and flipped on the lightswitch. Nothing happened. Then I remembered that last night the lights had flickered then gone out. Hubby had looked at the circuit breaker and declared it "DRT"--dead right there. That circuit not only controls the lights, but also the microwave.

Thankfully, the stove still worked and I was able to boil water in a pan to make tea. But it made me conscious of how much I rely on "things". What would I have done if the stove had been electric and on the same blown out circuit? (Probably jumped in my car and gone to Quik Trip for a caramel cappucino steamer, but that's another story).

I had a friend who shunned technology (except for her computer). She and her family live in a rustic house out in the boondocks of Northern California. She did not own a microwave. While she did own a television set, she only used it to play DVD's to entertain her kids. She had a treadle sewing machine which she used to make beautiful quilts. Eventually, I believe she even gave up the computer. This saddened me because I lost touch with her.

So, what is your idea of "roughing it"? What can't you live without?

Why Write...Why Do Anything?

2006-06-28T10:21:00.000-04:00

Last night was my last "Beyond Well Begun" writing class. I have to say, the last eight weeks have probably been some of the most productive of my writing life. I didn't get a tremendous amount written, but I learned so much from our instructor, Nancy Knight.

After reviewing all the subjects covered in class, Nancy asked us The Question: "Why do you write?"

Without exception we all answered pretty much the same way. We write because that's who we are...we are writers.

Even if (God forbid!) I never get published, or if I publish once and never again (one book wonder???) I would still write.

I write because I have so many stories to tell. And if my computer and Alphasmart were taken away from me, I'd use whatever pen or pencil was handy and write on notebook paper, napkins, paper towels...I'd even scratch my words into a piece of wood with a sharp knife if necessary--because I have to get the words out of my brain and make them solid.

Come to think of it....if I were REALLY desperate, I could learn intarsia knitting and knit my novels...it would be time consuming, but doable. :)

I know I'm drifting into silliness here, but my point is, when an artist of any kind has a statement to make, they find a way and nothing short of complete incapacitation or death will stop them.

And it always surprises me when someone admits that once upon a time they wrote a novel, shoved it under the bed and never wrote another word.

How can someone do that? And when they do, do they suffer in agony over the suppression of their creativity? Or do they not think of it ever again?

Birthday Blog

2006-06-21T07:14:00.000-04:00

I woke up this morning another year older...golly, how on earth did THAT happen? I certainly don't "feel" older...hope to goodness I don't LOOK older!

Birthdays are such odd things...some people--kids mostly--love them and can't wait for the next one. Most of the adults I've encountered seem to disdain them and try to ignore them.

I don't think I fit into that last category--or the first.

I'm not anxious for the days, months and years to race past any faster than they are, because that means one more year spent on this planet and one less to come.

But on the other hand, I'm thankful each year that I'm getting to celebrate another birthday, another milestone in my life, an opportunity that some won't get this year.

My sister, who is almost 10 years older than me is the most youthful woman of a "certain age" I know. If you met her on the street, you'd swear she was at least 20 years younger than she really is...and this is after battling cancer...not once but TWICE.

She's my ultimate heroine. When I grow up, I want to be just like her.

For a long time now, I've suspected that age is mostly about attitude. If you think "Good Lord, I'm getting old!"--You're gonna be old! I know women that are in their 60's who have the youthful outlook of a woman in her twenties.

Conversely, I know women who aren't even fifty who think, act and dress like they're ready for the rocking chair. I feel sorry for those women. An attitude like that is only going to speed you toward that hole in the ground that we all dread.

Having said that...one thing I'm really looking forward to in the coming decade and a half is retirement. Sounds odd, I know...most people think that when you retire from work, you retire from life.

Well, that ain't necessarily so. The main reason I'm looking forward to retirement is because I want to get out there and play--all the time! :) :) :) I want to make a lunch date for noon on Wednesday and have it carry over til dinner time and not worry that the boss is going to fire my heinie for tardiness.

I want to book a month long vacation. A month in Positano, anyone??? I want to be able to hop on a plane or into my car and go visit friends and family on a moment's notice and not have to leave just when the fun is starting.

The possibilities are endless.

So, what do YOU think about birthdays? Love them? Hate them? Indifferent?

Ren Fest

2006-06-07T09:42:00.000-04:00

Every year since I joined Peachtree Handspinners Guild, I've volunteered to help at our booth at the Georgia Renaissance Festival.

I always have a vague "Brigadoon" feeling about me. The village only come to life once a year. This time the year was 1531 and King Henry VIII and his new bride Queen Anne Boleyn are visiting Newcastle.

Above, you can see a picture of me with my wheel, spinning "teal wool". Sadly, only a few of the villagers and the visitors actually got the pun!
This next picture is, from left, my daughter, Summer, myself, and Summer's friend, Jen, who came to visit me while they were in the village. Look in the background and you'll see the antique loom, still in fine working order that graces our booth. This year, the weaving was dishcloths. They'll be raffled off later this year to raise money for the guild.

This is Jen modeling the dress that she had made for her. I think she looks quite the fetching maiden in it! But I teased her about either being a fever victim or a witch with her short-cropped hair! :)

What would a village be without a dragon? And someone to master him?
This little fellow obviously escaped from his television commercials long enough to visit the village and rather than floating around on a lawn chair, he has his trusty steed to take him where he wants to go.
Here you can see King Henry and Queen Anne as they parade through the village, waving and greeting their subjects.
On hand to protect their majesties are the Three Musketeers, who don't need a reason, only a place to knock swords with the Cardinal and his henchmen. (Below)
In the picture above, behind the Cardinal's henchmen, you can see Mother and Father Goose's cottage. Little children from all over come to pet the geese and ducks, which is very entertaining for us spinsters.

All in all, it was a very fine day, though I sweltered in my heavy skirts. Next year, I hope to visit more than just one day. I love going around to all the stalls to see what wondrous things the village craftsmen and women have made to sell.

So, do you have a Renaissance Festival where you live? Have you visited? What do you like best?

Maggie Madness

2006-06-01T07:21:00.000-04:00

My local RWA chapter, Georgia Romance Writers, sponsors a writing contest every year--The Maggie Awards of Excellence.

For the last few years, I've considered myself advanced enough in the skills of writing a good story to enter.

And for those same last few years, I've had a complete mental meltdown as the deadline to submit my entry looms.

It goes something like this:

January..begin new book, work feverishly and have critique partner look at the first few chapters and synopsis. Thumbs up, I continue, thumbs down and the project gets shelved so I can start again.

Eat chocolate.

February..submit synopsis and first chapter for annual GRW March workshop. This is where a published author reads the proposal and gives helpful advice to help potential Maggie entrants polish their work to increase chances of finalling and winning.

March..March workshop. Published author hates my proposal, calling my characters unrealistic, my locale too "exotic", the plot contrived and "over the top". Shelve project and begin working on the idea I'd been keeping in reserve.

Eat lots of chocolate.

April-May..work furiously polishing and polishing Maggie entry until it's the next GWTW.

End of May..3:00 AM panic attacks where I wake up in a cold sweat, convinced my work is rubbish and I should just scrap the whole thing and go to work as a file clerk. Many phone calls and IM's to critique partner and other supporters who soothe my frazzled nerves and convince me that my writing is stupendous and I'm a shoo in not only to final, but to WIN the prestigious Maggie Award.

Eat massive amounts of chocolate. Refuse to step on bathroom scale.

Last day of May..Frantic last second polishing and printing of three copies of first 35 pages of m/s (including the synopsis).

Panic attack when I can't find colored copy paper to place between synopsis and first chapter as required in "The Rules". Use Highlighters to color edges of white copy paper and pray that it's not an unforgivable sin that will render my entry null and void.

Get in car to drive to Post Office, back down driveway and remember I don't have the address for contest coordinator.

Get address, drive to Post Office. Grab two Tyvek envelopes and address them.

Stand in interminable line where everyone in front of me needs the postal code for an obscure village in Uzbeckistan.

Get to window and realize I've sealed Tyvek envelope without first including postage for return envelope. Rip Tyvek envelope open. Clerk gives me that "patient look" she's perfected since joining Postal Service in 1944.

Request two Priority Mail stamps. Place postage on return envelope, reseal Tyvek envelope only to immediately realize that I forgot to include the check for my entry fee.

Slap forehead. Pay clerk who tells me to step aside so she can assist next customer in line.

Rip Tyvek envelope open, place check in envelope, reseal envelope. Return to window where clerk asks to weigh package. I'm lacking $.15 on EACH envelope. Purchase additional postage. Step aside so clerk can assist next waiting customer who has been in line behind me since third grade. Receive dirty looks from waiting customers.

Rip Tyvek envelope open a THIRD time to attach additional postage to return envelope.

Return to window where clerk shoots me an exasperated look and TAPES tattered Tyvek envelope closed with Approved Postal Service package tape. She then rips it from my sweaty, shaking hands and throws it on the cart behind her.

Forget the chocolate.

Go home and drink a double Johnny Walker Gold Label on the rocks.

Cry.

Dishing The Dirt

2006-05-26T10:18:00.000-04:00

So, after an extended delay, the veggies and herbs are planted.

Hubby and the Undeserving Relative got off their backsides and built the two raised beds I’d been carping about for the last two months last weekend, then Hubby and I filled them with all sorts of goodies, including topsoil, leaf compost and cow compost (manure).

I’ve got 9 tomato plants. Seven of them heirloom varieties. The one I'm most excited about is Principe Borghese. This is an Italian variety that lends itself particularly well to drying.

There are also several pepper plants. Unfortunately it will be a total surprise to see which is which since Rockhead went through and UNplanted them and scrambled the markers while she was at it. $20.00 later, I have fencing around BOTH beds.

In the herb department, I’ve got chives, cilantro, thyme, oregano, basil, sage, rosemary, lavender and peppermint.

We’re in the process of tearing up the back deck, as well. The previous owners put it in ostensibly as a selling point, but I think it was really to cover up the fact that they SAID they’d put in a French drain, when they hadn’t. This has led to much weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth every time we watch the rivers of water wash through our garage with each rainstorm.

Another new edition to the landscape are 4 banana trees. The tags say “Ensete”, which is a semi-dwarf variety native to the Himalayas, but they LOOK more like dwarf Cavendish. Either way, they’re pretty.

In other gardening news…

If you’ve gotten an email or been told by someone not to purchase mulch from home improvement stores because it’s infested with Formosan Termites, don’t worry.

This is one of those suburban legends that Snopes and other hoax-buster sites has put to rest.

Read about it here, if you’d like.

Happy Gardening!

Battle Of The Bulge

2006-05-15T08:29:00.000-04:00

For the greater part of my adult life, I’ve been at war and it all began when my mother died.

I was never what you could call “skinny”. Even as a slim-trim teenager, I was still curvaceous. But in the months following my mom’s death, the inevitable depression and stress that went with it, caused my weight to really get out of control. I was a thirty-year-old mother of two and I was just plain fat.

Apparently, there are many chemical imbalances that can occur in your brain and body when stressed. My metabolism hormones went into hibernation.

I’ve fought and fought for the last 16 years, mostly by myself. I’ve tried just about every popular diet out there—From Atkins to the Zone and nothing worked.

The most success I’ve had to date was when I lost 25 pounds this past year on South Beach. I was also going to the gym 5 days a week. That averages out to a fraction more than two pounds a month. Then the losing stopped and gradually I gained back 15 of those 25 pounds.

When my paychecks came to a screeching halt just before Christmas, I had to drop the gym membership, but I still was eating healthy (with the occasional indulgence in a bowl of ice cream or chocolate cake on special occasions).

According to the laws of physics, if a body consumes fewer calories than it requires to stay alive, that body will become smaller (lose weight).

This is fine—in theory. But I’m baffled as to how a body can consume less than 1200 calories a day, walk half a mile every day with the heart rate at about 120bpm, and still GAIN weight!?!?!?

Enter Dr. Kelley. He’s my new “ladies doctor” and for the first time, I not only have a doctor who is sympathetic to my plight, but who has done extensive research on why women of a “certain age” pack on the pounds for no good reason.

So far, we’ve discovered that my thyroid is lazy. So he put me on Armour Thyroid. Next stop---hormoneville. I’ll know more about those puppies on Friday.

I’ve also started on a program developed by Dr. Mark Hyman, MD, called Ultrametabolism.

Yeah, yeah…I know what you’re thinking…just another fad diet. But I’m not so sure.

He talks a lot about how our bodies react to not only stress, but also from the constant barrage of pollutants and other chemicals we experience on a daily basis.

He discusses food allergies and sensitivities.

Getting to the point of my rather long story here, I’ve just about cleaned out my cupboards and pantry of all “junk” foods. That includes anything with wheat, dairy, high fructose corn syrup and transfats.

For the next 3 weeks I will be the guinea pig in my own experiment and see if I can actually lose weight by treating food as medicine.

I’ll keep you posted.

Just For The Record...

2006-05-08T07:55:00.000-04:00

…Barry Bonds is a world-class JERK.

Why am I saying this, you ask? As most of you who follow pop-culture news are aware, Mr. Bonds is within one home run of breaking Babe Ruth’s all time record.

Last night, when he hit #713, the ball landed at the feet of Carlos Oliveras, an airman 1^st class in the United States Air Force.

Oliveras, a long time Barry Bonds and Phillies fan, purchased tickets to the three day homestand in hopes of seeing the record broken. When Oliveras asked Bonds to sign the ball, Bonds just smirked at him and said no. He doesn’t sign balls when fans catch them.

What happened to ball players being heroes? Nowadays, most of them refuse to give autographs or pose with fans for pictures unless money is waved in their faces first. Not even for a member of the armed services who is defending the freedom and security of this country so egomanics like Bonds can continue wallowing in all the glory they enjoy. You’d think they’d be just a tad grateful for that, wouldn’t you?

But, it’s all about the money. They don’t give a horse’s heiney about the fans who pay their seven-figure salaries by purchasing tickets and going to the games, or the kids who look up to them as role-models.

Instead, they choose to prostitute themselves by selling that which should be given away out of the goodness of their hearts.

I stopped going to baseball games years ago after seeing the level to which some players stoop to feed their over-inflated egos. The steroid use scandal being a major part of that as well as the baseball card trade shows where players come and sit at a table and only sign cards or allow photos to be taken for a fee.

Barry Bonds, in my not so humble opinion, is nothing more than one of many steroid-enhanced, big-headed hemorrhoids on the posterior of what used to be a really good game.

So, pedal your goods someplace else, Barry, this non-fan ain’t buying.

Going Clubbing

2006-05-07T10:09:00.000-04:00

My husband likes to shop. Shop as in "retail therapy" type shopping. Yeah, it's a little weird, but how many wives can say their husbands love to shop with them?

Yesterday, I think we set a personal best record for warehouse club shopping. We started out going to this open air mall called The Forum...it's in an upscale part of the county and has some unique shops that I don't have access to locally...Yet...but we're working on it.

In the meantime...we ambled through this mall, enjoying the fresh spring air, looking in shop windows. We even stopped and had lunch at a little deli where I enjoyed not only a lucsious Reuben sandwich, but a bottle of San Pelligrino sparkling spring water with a lemon twist. I mentioned to hubby that I really liked this stuff and wished I had access to it at home.

He immediately hit on the idea of going to BJ's, a warehouse club where we have membership and is just a short distance from the mall. We didn't find San Pelligrino, but we did find a 24-pack of Perrier...the next best thing. From there, we headed to Duluth to pick up Hubby's contact lenses from the Costco eye care center. Not having anything else to do, we wandered around, sampling goodies offered by the ladies and gents in the green aprons. Hubby had recently bought a very nice "Aloha" shirt there and was disappointed they didn't have any more.

I made the mistake of saying that perhaps they'd taken all the really good stuff and moved it to the new Costco that opened this week up the road in Buford. I blinked and before I knew it, we were in the car, headed to Buford.

Hubby found another one of his shirts and I found a bottle of 10 year old tawny port wine I'd been wanting for a recipe.

THREE warehouse clubs in a single day! That's got to be a record--at least for us.

Where do you like to shop? What's your favorite store and why?

Fire In The Pie Hole

2006-05-05T07:14:00.000-04:00

I pride myself on being a good cook. Exceptionally good. I grew up in a kitchen. My mother worked nights as a nurse and as soon as I was able to work the stove without setting myself on fire, I began preparing meals for the family to take the burden off my mom a bit.

In all of my culinary life, I've had very few failures. The first year hubby and I were married, I attempted to broil some steaks. I'd never used an electric stove before---and the steaks ended up charred beyond recognition.

Last night I experienced yet another epicurean disaster. A month or so ago, I'd tasted something called "chicken tikka masala" that was being demo'd at that fancy kitchen store, Williams Sonoma. It was really yummy! Well, I can't afford to buy their $8.00 a jar sauces, so I decided I'd go to the local ethnic market and purchase some tikka masala sauce there and save myself some money.

Yesterday I cut the chicken breasts into chunks as recommended, mixed the sauce with some yogurt and slathered the chicken in it to marinate for several hours.

When it was time to cook the chicken, I threw in some carrots and potatoes and put it in a slow oven for an hour or so.

I served the CTM, as it's lovingly called in Britain, over steamed rice.

I took one bite and my nose began running like a faucet. After the second bite, I could no longer feel my tongue. After the third bite, I was afraid to talk because I feared I would be breathing fire.

I looked over at hubby and the Undeserving Relative. Neither of them were faring any better than I. I went to the kitchen and slathered everything with plain yogurt and they did the same but with sour cream. Didn't work.

I shook my head in disgust and took my plate to the kitchen. When he could speak, hubby declared that this was the first time in years and years I'd made something so horrible that it was completely inedible.

How about you? Any miserable failures in your past you'd like to share, culinary or otherwise?

Rejections and Other Annoyances

2006-05-03T07:12:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine recently got back yet another manuscript she'd sent in to a publisher. It was returned with a rejection letter. Said letter was a full typed page long, so you know the editor took the time to read at least the first part of the book, and made helpful suggestions on what my friend could do to "fix" what she perceived as "wrong" with the book. Basically, she'd have to gut it and rewrite the whole thing.

I have to admit, editors completely baffle me. They keep telling us poor saps they want "fresh ideas, new voices"...yet they reject the very books that have these fresh ideas simply because they are different.

I really liked my friend's story. Yes, there were some plot points that needed fixing, some contrivances that were a little too convenient, but for the most part, the story was an interesting twist of a familiar plotline that's been used several times--with great sucess--in both books and movies.

If my friend were to do what the editor suggests, she'd be writing the same old story, with the same old characters. How dull and unimaginative is that?

A few other things that frustrate the life out of me, as a writer, are well-intentioned readers/critiquers who pick a character and say "that's not true to life". Well, whose life are we talking about? Yours? Mine? Or the character's?

I've actually had people tell me this with regard to a character who is based very closely on a real person. "Oh, a woman would never, never in a million years leave her three small children to run away with a wanted criminal!" Wanna bet? My grandmother did just that.

Or, "people just don't use phrases like that anymore." Oh, really??? Take the phrase "My Lands!" for example. If your character is a twenty-something waitress from Santa Monica, California, that particular phrase might not be part of her vocabulary. But what if she's a forty-something Southern girl who was raised as a strict Baptist?

Stephen King says that he had a stack of rejection letters as tall as a railroad spike before he got an offer for Carrie. THAT is determination. He never let an editor, an independent reader or other writers who thought they were being "helpful", distract him from doing what he wanted more than anything in the world--and that was to become a published author.

So for any of you hopefuls out there (like my friend--and ME) don't sweat the small stuff. And that's exactly what rejection letters are...small stuff. Just read it, thank the editor for his or her time, and move on. Keep writing. My writing teacher said last night that if she knew that she'd never be published again the rest of her life, she'd still write. She writes because she must. Because writing is as important to her physical well being as breathing.

Carpe pluma!

Instant Gratification or Slow Burn?

2006-04-23T08:18:00.000-04:00

Are we addicted to speed? Not the crystal meth stuff or the "Mothers Little Helpers" of bygone years, but actual speed. You know... faster, faster!

For myself, I've noticed that I've become and instant gratification junkie. I want faster downloads of stuff from the internet. I want commercials to go by faster so I can get back to my regularly scheduled program.

Driving? Ugh! Fuhgedaboudit! I live in what is supposedly the fastest city in America. We have this horrible entity called "The Perimeter"--A circular freeway that encompasses most of the Atlanta metro area. Technically, the speed limit is 55 mph. If anyone actually drove that slow, they'd either get run over by a semi, or shot in a fit of road rage by another driver.

Let me say right here, I do NOT enjoy driving. I'd be very happy to be chauffeured around for the rest of my life...a forty-something Miss Daisy, if you will. Unfortunately, there are times when I have to suck it up and get behind the wheel and motor around on the interstate system.

Friday, was a good example. I had to drive in morning rush hour traffic to a destination that was 41 miles away. Here on my side of the city we have a "reversible lane system" on a major artery connecting the city of Atlanta with my little 'burb. I drove in the middle of three lanes of westbound traffic and we were all driving about 50-60 mph and were all very happy. Out of nowhere this dame in a Cadillac pulls out from a side street, cuts across two lanes of traffic--in front of ME and settles in to drive at 42 mph.

Screeching brakes, rapid, loud profanity....and then I'm stuck ambling along behind her while on both sides of me cars are whizzing past at light speed.

Once I'd managed to navigate past her, a guy with a cell phone glued to his ear, decided that weaving in and out of traffic made the drive go by faster. He managed to cut me off....TWICE within a four mile stretch.

By the time I'd arrived at my destination, I was ready for 10 mgs of Valium with a Vodka chaser.

The other area where I get antsy about speed is my computer. Now, I don't have the most up to date, fanciest machine on the market, but barring any problems out on the information superhighway, I manage to get along quite well. Downloading is a matter of seconds, not minutes or hours.

I didn't appreciate this wondrous phenomenon until yesterday when I tried to help hubby navigate to a website on his 5 year old computer. A computer that has been FUBAR'd to the point of irrevocable constipation by his determination to frequent shady gaming sites. I imagine if you ran a search and destroy on his PC, you'd find more viri, worms and other nasties than in the entire CDC.

I sat there watching the little MSWindows icon wave slowly back and forth, back and forth, for what seemed like a lifetime before I got the dreaded "operation timed out" window. I gave up in frustration....he'll just have to work things out on his own.

Just for the record, though, I have to say that aside from those little areas, I enjoy taking my time with just about everything else in my life. I write slow, I mosey through stores like I'm in a trance, and hubby has said I'm the slowest eater on the planet.

So what about you? Are you a speed freak? Or are you content to amble along like the Cadillac Lady? What are your "hot buttons" in this world of instant gratification?

A Day in the Life Of....

2006-04-20T10:01:00.000-04:00

Once again Roxy is forcing me to acknowledge her presence in my life by more than the usual pats on the head and morning cuddles.

She's been suffering from, I'll be polite here and say...digestive upsets. Tuesday morning found me manning the steam cleaner for about half an hour scrubbing away at my bedroom carpet. Yesterday was a repeat of Tuesday. Poor thing, I'm not faulting her, but I can't figure out what the problem is. She only gets dry kibble, the same thing she's eaten for months. She hasn't been acting sick. Her nose is cool and wet. I notice that when she shoves it in the crook of my knee when I'm least expecting it.

Last night, I dosed her with yogurt and activated charcoal. It seemed to help. I didn't have to clean the carpet this morning. Let's hope the trend continues.

Last night was Stitching for Sanity at the local library. We had the meeting room so we didn't get "shushed" by the librarian. There were plenty of sweets to go around Doug brought macaroons, Marilyn brought mini muffins and I think she was the one who brought the donut holes as well. It was a veritible minefield of empty calories. :-)

I hadn't been for three weeks and everyone has moved on to new and exciting projects...everyone but me. I'm still working on the half-clap. I may have to set that aside for a while and get working on the real one for my VIP, if I'm going to have it completed by the end of July.

I've also been busy with a writing class. This is an eight week long series for advanced writers and it's being taught by a gal I've known since I moved to Georgia. She's had 5 plays produced and has written something like 48 novels.

The recovery is going....not smooth, not 100% on target, but it's going. I've had a couple of minor blips but for the most part, my eating habits have reverted back to the normal healthy ones I had before. Not craving sugar and sweets like a junkie craves a fix and that's a blessing in itself. Hubby has even said he's feeling better not eating a heavy meal at night. I about jumped for joy when he said that. I've been set free from the kitchen!!! No longer must I weep and wail and gnash my teeth about what to fix for supper every night. A sandwich, a bowl of soup or a salad will suffice nicely.

Recovery

2006-04-17T08:07:00.000-04:00

Mondays are always a good day to start something new. Since I've been on a junk food binge, lo, these many weeks, I thought I'd do something positive to start the week and do a "detox".

My "breakfast" this morning consisted of a lemon and an orange, a good sized sprig of parsley, 1 oz of olive oil, ginger, cayenne, black pepper and cinnamon all whizzed up in the blender. I followed that with a glass of lemon/cinnamon water.

My meals will consist of large salads with 4 oz. of protein and a dressing made of garlic, olive oil and lemon juice.

I get to snack on carrot and celery sticks.

Whoo-hoo.

I figure if I can stick to this for a week, I'll be doing good. You're supposed to do it for 10 days.

If I survive the first week, I'll do a second week before my birthday in June.

And for some reason, I woke up yesterday feeling "whiplashed". Don't know where that came from. No recent car accidents (other than Dear Cousin whacking a deer while I was a passenger in the vehicle). Anyway, since I already possess the pills the doc would shove at me for the problem, I'm just taking care of it on my own.

So, right now, I'm in recovery mode.

The weather has been so gorgeous the past week or so, that I'm almost afraid of what our summer will be like....

The word sweltering comes to mind.

Speaking of the weather, it's been great for plants. My hostas are up with leaves unfurled and the babies I adopted from Cousin Jon are all growing nicely. One little veronica plant even has flowers.

Now, I just need to get my raised beds built for the tomatoes and peppers.

Birthday, Holiday, Chocolate, Oh My!

2006-04-13T10:18:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was Daughter #1's birthday. She's now officially closer to 30 than 20. Yikes! Where did the time go??

Twenty-five years ago, yesterday, she took her first steps, but it seems like just last week. We've gone through braces, glasses, middle-school drama, the whole learning-to-drive thing, first boyfriend, first broken heart, and first job.

Hubby and I took her out to dinner last night. Greek food, one of her favorites. As usual, she ate half and took the rest home. I think that's the secret of her staying so pencil-thin.

At home, we had carrot cake, her favorite, before we called it a night.

Now, she's talking about having Easter Baskets. We used to do that when the girls were kids, but now? Double-Yikes! The thought of that much candy in the house, available at one time, gives me the heebie-jeebies. I just have no control when it comes to chocolate. I have to strictly ration myself or before I know it, I'm as drunk as Templeton, the Rat, at the end of the State Fair.

What I am going to do, though, is make a nice dinner. I have this recipe called Silence of the Greek Lambs. Basically, roast lamb shanks, with potatoes, and I'll saute some spinach and crumble some feta cheese to go along with it.

So, what are your plans for the holiday weekend?

She's Baa-aack!

2006-04-10T16:48:00.000-04:00

Dear Reader,

Please accept my apologies for my extended absence. I was all ready to write an update last week, when I got a call from one of my cousins that mybeloved 91 year-old uncle was in the ER over in Huntsville.

I didn't think, I just packed some clothes, a book and my knitting and jumped in the car and sped over there. Thankfully, after a week in the hospital, he's much better and was sent home last Wednesday.

While I wasn't running back and forth to the hospital, I spent my time out at "The Ranch" with my cousins. Cousin Jon is the owner of Coneflower Farms, a wholesale plant nursery. Unfortunately, he's too busy to bother with a website, or I'd have an URL for you to go visit. Anyway, I arrived just in time for the Spring Crunch. This is when they really start moving in the greenhouses, getting plants ready to sell, taking orders, etc...

I spent several days working from early in the morning until afternoon popping "plugs" (newly sprouted plants in sectioned trays) and putting them into 4" pots. I did this for a couple of reasons, 1, to help out Jon and Cassie because one of their laborers is currently away at college and the other is in his senior year in high school and was slaving away on a term paper. 2, I wanted to “earn” plants. They’ve always been super-wonderful about loading me up with plants to bring home, but at this time of year, there are no “extras”…only mother plants and plants to be sold. I figured if I worked hard, asking for no pay, only plants, it would be easier to for them to part with some of their stock. :-)

One night, Junebug, the official Ranch Dog, began barking and wouldn’t stop. Turns out we had a visitor. This little guy/girl (I didn’t get close enough to check the gender) was snuffling around under the kitchen window for bugs, their favorite food. For those of you who don't know what this critter is, it's an opossum, North America's only native marsupial.

Cousins Jim and Bill have been building an A-frame cabin half-way up the ridge from the bottom of the property. I tease Jim it’s his “doghouse”, but I think it’ll mostly be used for camping out and as a place for Bill to crash when he comes out to visit from California.

Speaking of Bill, let me say for the record that he's a maniac behind the wheel. Nobody, repeat NO-BODY in their right mind drives 55 mph down a country dirt road in the springtime.

Brother Jim made the grave mistake of allowing Mr. I-Need-More-Caffeine to be the one to drive the us home. The four being Jim, his wife, Genie, Bill and myself. It was late, we were tired and I was staring at the road ahead and there in the headlights---a deer. A cute little Bambi. Dumber-than-dirt Bambi. Instead of fleeing across the open field, like any sensible animal, when confronted with a ton of minivan traveling in excess of 50 mph, this doofus deer takes a flying leap straight at us. The end score: Minivan 1-- Deer 0.

But I still love you, Cuz, even though you killed Bambi. ;-) I know it wasn't totally your fault.

So, I am home now, and have been writing feverishly. This past weekend was our monthly GRW meeting and we had a very special guest, USA Today Bestselling author, Leanne Banks. She spoke about maintaining emotional and sexual tension in your writing.

Afterwards, we had a booksigning at Barnes & Noble. In the picture, you can see from left to right, my critique partner, the famous Miss Mary, Leanne and myself.

If you click the link to my website, you’ll see that it’s undergone a facelift. Please go to the comment page and let me know what you think! I love the sunflowers!

Many thanks to Michelle Moore and Liz Ramsey for creating this wonderful site and to Liz and her buddies Dave and Coop for hosting.

Until next time...

Indulgences

2006-03-24T08:03:00.000-05:00

Do you spoil yourself? By that, I mean do you do things and buy little things that make you feel good? Or are you one who is completely self-sacrificing and never spends a dime on yourself or allows yourself a moment to be completely at rest?

I do some of both.

The Man Who Lives With Me does not drink coffee. Hates it, in fact. I, on the other hand, love quality coffees and teas…even consider myself something of a coffee snob. I will plunk down a hefty $9.00 for a pound of perfectly roasted Kenya AA and savor each cup as though it were ambrosia.

I don’t wear cheap shoes, either. Given that we are only issued one pair of feet and medical technology hasn’t perfected the foot transplant yet, I take very good care of the two I have. While I adore looking at those gorgeous, frivolous dainty shoes with impossibly high heels, I’d never buy a pair or wear them even if they were offered. The pain just isn’t worth it. So, I shell out the money for decent looking, though plain, supremely comfortable shoes.

One thing hubby and I agree on are bedsheets. I’m the Princess and the Pea, personified when it comes to threadcount. Nothing less than 400TPI touches this skin.

I think a lot of my self-indulgence comes from growing up with a dad who was a product of the Great Depression. He bought the cheapest of everything. When the “generic” craze hit the nation, he was the happiest man on the face of the earth. Suddenly, our home was filled with “basic” this, and “yellow label” that. It didn’t matter if the can of green beans was mostly stems…it was cheap!

Lest you think me a spendthrift, let me assure you, I’m not. I have a very small amount of discretionary income and most weeks, I have money left over. My greatest indulgence is time. Now that my children are grown and, for the most part out of the house and on their own, the demands of motherhood are no longer as great as they once were.

Each week I have time that is mine and mine alone to do with as I please. I cherish that time and it takes something major for me to give it up. That’s when I recharge my creative batteries. It might be something as simple as a long soak in the tub with some music playing or it could be a drive to the botanical garden to wander through the plants to see what’s blooming.

Even something as simple as taking fifteen minutes to sit and enjoy that cup of coffee while looking out the window is an indulgence of sorts.

So, how do you indulge yourself? Do you pamper yourself to the extreme? Or do you sneak in little bits and pieces? Does a secret treat make it all the sweeter?

Ode to Joe's...Trader Joe's that is...

2006-03-23T09:27:00.000-05:00

I am SO excited!!! Last night at Stitching for Sanity, it was revealed by Jane and confirmed by Steve, that Atlanta is finally going to be getting a Trader Joe’s store.

For those of you who don’t know about this little bit of gastronomic heaven, I shall enlighten you.

Trader Joes began life as a chain of convenience stores in the Los Angeles area in 1958. They were known as Pronto Markets. In 1967, the founder, Joe Coulombe, got the idea to expand the number and types of items offered. It was decided that the new stores would be called “Trader Joes”. The stores were decorated in a nautical theme with cedar plank walls and the ‘crew members’ all wore Hawaiian print shirts.

Gimmicks are fine, but what really sold the public was the incredible number of exceptionally fine foods sold at the lowest possible prices.

Today, Trader Joes has something for everyone. If you’re a confirmed vegan who only eats organic foods, you’ll find your crunchy granola and soy milk. If wine is your thing, you can bet that you’ll find a bottle of something wonderful at a great price, to go with that special dinner you’re planning.

When I lived in the San Diego area, I did almost all my shopping at Trader Joes. There was always produce available from local farmers at the peak of freshness. Seafood was either fresh off the boat or flash frozen and wonderfully tasty. And how many grocery stores carry giant sized Ghirardelli chocolate slabs?

Another thing I like about Trader Joes is their ethics. I’m no “tree-hugger” but I do believe that we have a responsibility to be good stewards of the Earth. Trader Joes has shown that you can be a successful commercial venture without compromising your values. They refuse to purchase seafood from Canada from fishermen who also hunt baby seals. My hat is off to them for that. They’ve also committed to carrying only eggs from cage-free chickens in their stores.

Something else that impresses me about TJ’s is the fact that they not only buy direct from manufacturers whenever possible to keep prices low, but they pledge to pay their vendors in cash and on time for the products that they buy.

In all the years that I’ve shopped at Trader Joes, I’ve never once had a bad experience in any of their stores. The crews are helpful, knowledgeable and show a level of courtesy that in other stores, disappeared two decades ago.

So, if you live near a Trader Joes, but haven’t shopped there yet, go on, give them a try. It’ll be the most fun food shopping experience you’ve ever had.

Confessions from the Organizationally Challenged

2006-03-21T13:21:00.000-05:00

Hello, my name is Cinthia, and I’m a Messy. But inside of me is a Neatnik dying to get out (she’s squeezed in there along side the Skinny Girl).

Life is not easy for a packrat with messy tendencies and given that my chosen hobbies encourage pack-ratting, this makes life even more difficult.

Add to that that I live in a house (with three other people who are also packrats) with virtually NO closet space and it’s a recipe for domestic disaster.

At work, I have no problems being a Neatnik. In fact, I’m organized to the point of borderline OCD. Everything must be in its proper place and done a certain way or I completely wig out. As much as I crave vacation time, I cringe at the thought of someone else taking over because I know I’ll have to come back and spend weeks reorganizing and “fixing” their foul-ups.

At home, however, I’m a totally different person. I wade through a sea of clutter on a daily basis and hardly give it a thought, simply because there’s nowhere else to put it.

Where does one store an inflatable mattress when one doesn’t have a utility closet? Where does one put small kitchen appliances when all available cupboard space is taken up with dishes, pots and pans? What about all those little things that come into the house that are necessary but don’t always have a place (as in a place for everything and everything in its place) These are questions that kept me awake at night for years until I simply gave up.

Put them in the garage, you say? I’d love to….but Undeserving Relative has taken over the garage with large power tools, mysterious boxes of UR’s own “stuff”, as well as the accumulated “stuff” belonging to The Daughter With a Serious Case of Failure To Launch.

To be fair, I can’t lay all the blame at the feet of UR and DD. If I was truly determined to fix the problem, I would find a way, but whenever I try going through the house with the intent to “organize”, I find myself overwhelmed by the task. How do other people do it? I visit people like my sister who is the dictionary definition of “neatness”, and wonder how she does it. Even her washing machine is clean. Not a speck of dust or hardened gunk to be seen.

I’ve read all those “helpful household hints” books by people claiming to be reformed messies, but who I strongly suspect are just control freaks on a mission to alphabetize the world. Their methods just don’t work In Real Life. How many people can go around with a stack of 3X5 cards in their pockets? Seriously…how many of us are conscious enough at 6:30 in the morning to shine the kitchen sink for crying out loud???

I start out with the best of intentions but eventually there comes a point where I wind up sitting in the corner, clutching my blankie.

Spring is here...why doesn't my heart go dancing?

2006-03-20T09:52:00.000-05:00

“I’m as restless as a willow in a windstorm…I’m as jumpy as a puppet on a string…”

Old Rodgers & Hammerstein certainly had a way with words, didn’t they? The next line is “why should I have spring fever when it isn’t even spring?”

Well, today is the first day of spring…the Vernal Equinox. Today there will be as much light as darkness on our planet. Long ago, this solar event marked the time when farmers began planting their crops and it was looked upon as a time of renewal.

Animals awaken from hibernation or give birth to their young and we humans experience a spurt of energy from the increased daylight and warmth.

In the past, most housewives would observe a ritual known as “spring cleaning”. They’d haul the carpets out of the house, hang them on the clothes line and beat the accumulated dirt and dust from them with a batlet, a device that looked similar to a heavy-duty fly swatter.

Floors would be swept, then scrubbed. Linens would be taken out, inspected for damage or wear, then repaired or discarded.

I caught a little bit of the spring cleaning bug myself yesterday. No, don’t call the EMT’s-- it wasn’t a big deal. It’s just that whenever I walk downstairs, the first thing I see is our living room. It also happens to be the first room any visitor to our front door sees and they can see it quite handily though the window next to the door. The thought of someone catching me at home and seeing the FEMA site that was my living room, was enough to give me a bad case of hives.

That room has been a wreck since mid-January, when the undeserving relative came back to roost in our house and deposited about thirty square feet of boxes, containers and a TV set smack in the middle of the room. It took eight weeks to remove and only then when one of the furbabies mistook a moving box for a litterbox.

This event coincided with the purchase of a new vacuum, the old one having died a painful death by asphyxiation. Frequent ingestion of hairballs made up of the combined fibers from cats, dogs, bunnies and the odd sheep matted with pinestraw will do that.

Happily, the room is now clean, and with the exception of the top of the piano and the Big Chair, tidy. We even decorated a bit. My treasured Talavera plate from Mexico is holding court above the fireplace and at her feet are several of the tiny, fantastically painted animals wrought from the hands of the Huichol people that dh collects. Standing guard off to one side is a Talavera pitcher and on the other is a balsawood frog using a leaf as an umbrella.

Now, with that giant slain, Dona Quixote’s next windmill to tilt at will be the downstairs bathroom. But that’s a story for another day.

So Much For Good Intentions

2006-03-15T13:22:00.000-05:00

This is an addendum to this morning's post. I was feeling so good about how much I'd gotten accomplished, I decided to take a break, go outside and enjoy the sunshine and read for a bit.

I'd no sooner gotten comfortable and was happily reading when the wind kicked up a little. A bit of blinding white paper caught my eye out on the lawn. I say lawn, with a roll of the eyes because it's really just a long stretch of GA red clay with patches of crabgrass and weeds...anyway...I put my book down (A Belated Bride, by Karen Hawkins. Bought it at a booksigning years ago and it's been on my TBR stack)...where was I? Oh yeah, the white paper. I walked over and it turns out the white paper is a play slip for the GA Lottery Win For Life Game.

Several days ago hubby had bought some(10) tickets and brought them home and forgot where he put them. He enlisted my aid in searching for them and could only tell me "It was a metallic surface". Gee, that's helpful.

We both looked and never found the tickets, until I stumbled upon them this morning. Turns out he'd gone directly from the car to the back yard and placed the tickets on our barbeque and promptly forgotten all about them.

So, there I was on a bizzare sort of Easter Egg Hunt searching the yard for these little white pieces of paper. I only found 5 of them and for my efforts I wound up with an asthma attack from breathing in oaktree pollen.

All desire to continue writing today has left me. I want a shot of Jamesons--make that a double-- and a bubble bath.

Never Do Today What You Can Put Off 'Til Tomorrow

2006-03-15T08:41:00.000-05:00

The last several days, I've put myself under the gun to finish up the edits/rewrites/add-ins for chapters 4 & 5 of Opus#5, the book I wrote last year and want to get in the mail to agents/editors(sometime before I pass on to the next world). Since I'm not gainfully employed at the moment, I figure no time like the present.

But I am the worst procrastinator on the planet--at least to my knowledge. I can get sidetracked by a bird flying past my window. I'll wonder what kind of bird it is and get up from my chair to go have a look. Then I'll go get the bird book. Nope, my bird looks nothing like any of those pictured. So I go online and look up birds. Inevitably, some tidbit of information, some stray fact will intrigue me and before I know it, half the day is gone.

I'm also guilty of abusing AIM. I can truly see why so many employers have banned it from workplace computers. It's addicting. I find people who are probably just like myself (who most likely should/could be doing something more constructive than yakking with me) and I have a grand time chit-chatting about anything and everything under the sun. The next thing I know, hubby is pulling into the driveway and not only am I still trying to figure out how to fix the same chapter from yesterday, but dinner isn't even out of the freezer yet.

The last few days, though, I've made a concerted effort at reform. I've been up early, eaten my breakfast and instead of reading which Hollywood celebrities are boffing/divorcing/cheating on each other, I've gone directly to "My Documents", pulled up my chapters and sat here and actually worked!

At the end of the workday (which pretty much ends when hubby crosses the threshold) I had accomplished what I'd set out to do. Chapter 4 is done. Chapter 5 is one page away from being done. Hallelujah and pass the Haggen Daz!! Last night, dinner was actually cooked by me, it was on time. I washed, dried, folded and hung some laundry. And even watched Law & Order SVU and a movie before I crashed for the night.

Now, you'd think that this sense of accomplishment and exhilaration would make me want to do this every day, wouldn't you? Hah! I have no doubts that I'll slide right back to my slothful ways and soon, I'll be flaggelating myself for wasting all that valuable time before it gets to the point of do or die.

Some of us do our best work under threat of torture.

Trash or Treasure?

2006-03-09T11:20:00.000-05:00

I’ve recently found myself in the position of having to “defend”, if you will, the romance genre. Granted, I brought it upon myself by asking why so many people feel the need to denigrate this particular genre when many have never even read one. Or if they have, they’ve read maybe one or two of the older historical romances or category romances from our mother’s era.

I’ve never seen the disdain that’s directed at romance directed at other genres such as mystery, sci-fi/fantasy or westerns. Why romance?

Only a few people were willing to give me a straight answer. One said she thought it was because the perception of romance is that it’s nothing but the old “heaving bosoms and throbbing members” that were prevalent in the dialog of the historicals of years gone by. Another said her husband regards romances as “trash” simply because they give women the false perception that real life should be like a romance novel.

Thankfully, for the most part those euphemisms that used to be de rigeur,(and made me cringe) are now a thing of the past.

As far as giving women a false impression of real life, well, then perhaps one could argue that you shouldn’t read fairy tales to children because they would start believing there really are monsters hiding under the bed.

Maybe people shouldn’t read sci-fi. We wouldn’t want these poor misguided souls to think that an alien might really come bursting out of someone’s chest.

At the very least, I believe it’s horribly insulting to romance readers, who for the most part, are female. It gives the impression that, as women, we don’t have much going on upstairs.

At one point in this conversation all readers of genre fiction were roundly criticized by someone who felt that anyone who reads popular fiction is doing so because they are in need of a security blanket and are afraid to read anything else.

This person went on to confess they never read anything that is considered “popular”. That’s rather sad to me because they are severely limiting themselves. They’re missing out on many excellent books and some outstanding writing.

I can’t imagine going my whole life never having read “Shauna” by Kathleen Woodiwiss, “The Moonspinners”, by Mary Stuart or “The Once and Future King” by T.H. White.

So, with that said, what books have you read that stand out in your mind to this day as being some of the best you’ve ever read? Why?

Demons and Addictions

2006-03-07T07:53:00.000-05:00

Have you ever had a chore that was so daunting, so overwhelming, even though you KNOW it needs to be done, you just don't want to face it?

That's what I'm looking at. And the demon is my bedroom closet. Let's just get it out right now...I AM NOT MARTHA. My closet looks like a windstorm came through it..and that's on a good day.

But at BJ's the other day we found a closet organizer system for a mere $39.00. That is about half of what I have found for the absolute bottom of the line cheapest closet racks at Lowe's or HD.

Dh told me on Sunday as we were looking at them; "If you can get your closet cleaned out by Friday, we'll come and get this system and I'll install it for you." What's that corny old joke? The one about "free ham"???

***
I know there are others out there who've confessed to this predeliction...a love affair with stationary supplies. How many others are willing to raise their hands and admit that when they set foot inside Office Depot or Staples, their heartrate speeds up, their palms get a little clammy, their face flushes? It's just like a clandestine meeting with a lover, isn't it? And those slick paper catalog with all the color photos the companies send out...oh my! Is it getting hot in here or is it just me?

I confess that the sight of Post It's makes my breath catch in my throat. Fondling pens and mechanical pencils causes a sigh of rapture. Desktop organizers, reams of copy paper, highlighers, correction fluid--or better yet, correction tape! All of them have me enthralled.

Okay, so what's your secret addiction? I know a few of you are going to say the LYS....okay, but is there anything else you're secretly smitten with?

Music to my Brain

2006-03-02T10:41:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting here listening to Andrea Bocelli's Viaggo Italiano. and it occured to me that it's amazing how music can affect our moods and more importantly, our creativity.

My one and only visit to Italy was when I was all of fourteen years old but I fell in love with the history, the architecture, the people and sheer beauty of the land. It's been many, many years since I tossed my coin into the Trevi Fountain but the memories are as sweet as though it were yesterday. I've yet to return. But I truly believe that my wish to return to Italy will one day come true.

Right now I'm on rewrites of Opus #5, which is set entirely in Italy. I discovered that I needed to make some radical changes in the book. This necessitated inserting a whole new chapter between two previously written ones. This is about as easy as putting on a bra without removing your pullover shirt. It's doable, but tricky.

For me, writing is something I love but it drains me. Not unlike being at the beck and call of a demanding infant you've given birth to. Mental rejuventation is vital to the creative process.

If I'm feeling stressed or blocked, all I have to do is put on a CD of Italian songs and close my eyes for a few minutes. Slowly the muscles unknot, the endorphins begin to seep though my body and into my brain and a sense of well-being and happiness floods through me.

In cases of severe stress or extreme writers block I strongly recommend filling the bathtub, add a generous portion of bubble bath (lavender scent preferably for it's relaxing qualities), light a few candles, sip a glass of port, eat Godiva chocolates, and listen to a CD of your favorite love songs. An hour later you'll be a new you.

Goodbye Febru-Ugly --Hello March!

2006-03-01T15:24:00.000-05:00

--Who came in like a lamb. :)

Anyone else breathing a sigh of relief that the first day of spring is just twenty days away?

The first income tax refund check arrived yesterday so we celebrated and bought a new vacuum. woo-hoo.

After a test run on the clapotis last Wednesday night, I'm ready to start for real tonight. Just have to remember where I put the frassing stitch markers I bought.

I've also bought the necessary items for engineering a new scotch tension band on my spinning wheel. Don't think I mentioned it before but I got to my meeting on Sunday and discovered it was missing. Had to borrow the guild's little Kiwi for the day in order to spin at all.

I could have just ordered a new tension kit, but I'm not a patient person and the thrifty Scot in me comes out when I see something for $15.00 (including shipping) that I could make for under $5.00.

A big congrats to the Knitting Olympics Team Georgia members who got their projects done. St. Janice must have set a world's record for sweater knitting.

On the writing front, I've finished rewrites on chapter three of Opus #5 and have started on chapter four (9 pages!). I meet with Miss Mary on Friday to see the results of her critique and proofreading. One more chapter and I think I'll have enough to send off to the editor and agent I met last fall.

Okay, off to figure out what to feed the other people in the house before I set out for Stitching for Sanity.

The Tale of a Very Bad Dog

2006-02-27T11:15:00.000-05:00

I had to take a picture of this. It's just too painful to not share. Once upon a time, that mess was a beautiful ball of creamy white bluefaced leiscester lambswool roving. The two cocoon-looking balls on the left of the picture are two bobbins-full that I had already spun up.
Five minutes. That's all it took. Five little minutes of unsupervised time alone in the living room and Rockhead Roxy managed to jump into a chair, sniff out the wool that was inside a closed bag that was inside another closed bag. She tore the bags open, pulled the wool out, ran out the dog door and shook the wool like a rat.
Thank goodness I found the wool quick or she'd have had it strewn across the yard like streamers at a boat launch. The funny thing was, she knew she'd been bad. The minute I went outside and saw, she made a run for it. It took me a good fifteen minutes to grab her, then I scruffed her on the floor, made her smell the wool while I screamed at her. She spent a good hour in "time out" before I was calm enough to let her back out with the rest of us.

Yesterday was the monthly Peachtree Handspinners Guild meeting. The lovely blue cloud you see above is some BFL lambswool I bought from Tina Evans. She raises sheep and angora goats up in the northwestern part of Georgia. She's also an absolute genius with the dyepot.

As for the Mess O Wool....I've decided that will be my project to work on when I'm dead bored and have nothing else to do on a warm day when I can work on it outside.

And I've learned a valuable lesson...Dogs and wool are not mutally compatible--as much as the dog would like to think otherwise.

Clapotis(Clap o TEE) N: Modern French Torture Device Made of Yarn

2006-02-23T09:12:00.001-05:00

It's still ugly here in Atlanta. I can't remember the last time I saw the sun. In fact, there's this suspicious green patch that's appeared on my shoulder that I think may be moss...

Last night I was the first to arrive at the Library for Stitching for Sanity. Does that tell you anything? Usually I come skidding in sometime after 7:00 and everyone has to do the "clean cup, clean cup, move down, move down" routine for me.

We were supposed to have a meeting room last night. Apparently the word didn't get out to the Five Forks HOA because when I arrived there was a man in there setting up chairs in neat tidy rows. I wandered into the main part of the library and there was nary a table to be had. I finally plunked my bag on a chair in the "Teen Scene" area and shot anyone who gave me the hairy eyeball a defiant glare.

There is strengh in numbers...eventually there were enough of us to squeeze out any interlopers by sheer force of will and we had the area to ourselves.

It was a Red Letter night for me, too. I've decided to make the Clapotis (loud applause please). This will be my very first attempt at following a pattern. I know, I know...how on earth can you possibly knit without a pattern??? Very easily...there are just some things that are standard...you just DO THEM and they come out. Like scarves... and hats.... Socks are a little more difficult, but if you know the stitches for your basic sock, you can get on fairly well without having to follow a printed pattern.

It's those danged abbreviations that kill me. PBF. WTF??? I had to go online and look through THREE different knitting abbreviation sites before I found one that had that little nugget and I still couldn't figure out what the heck it meant. So, I took the yarn and needles with me last night and had the experts (Stephanie, St. Janice) show me exactly what Purl Back and Front of same stitch meant. Geez.

So, now that I've got that figured out, I'm making a test clap before committing to the expense, time and energy to make one out of silk for that VIP I mentioned a few posts back.

Heck, I have until July!

Signs of Life

2006-02-21T09:36:00.000-05:00

Febru-Ugly can't end fast enough to suit me. Once the fun of the holidays are over, I'd just as soon dispense with winter, thank you.

To my grateful relief, there are early signs of spring popping up all around Atlanta. The redbuds are blooming. If you've never seen one, you've missed out.

Just yesterday morning, I looked outside my bedroom window, and sure enough, the forsythia bush is budding out, as well. Even the branches of the silver maple outside the front door are starting to swell with leafbuds.

In my other life, back when I lived in what my late Aunt Bertha called “God’s Country”, I didn’t really appreciate spring because I lived in the best climate on the planet.

Sure, in the fall, the deciduous trees drop their leaves, but that isn’t a big deal because there are also palm trees and Norfolk Island pine trees and eucalyptus trees which are green year round.

The ugly brown-gray of winter is one thing San Diego need not ever worry about.

Here in Atlanta, however, I suppose the stark, muted colors of winter serve to give us appreciation for the colors of the rest of the year.

Soon, the azaleas will begin blooming and the entire southeast will be awash in color ranging from white to the most shocking of pinks. Then come the wisteria, both domestic and feral, a climbing purple fantasy amongst the dormant kudzu vines.

This is the time of year when I start fantasizing over plant catalogs. I have visions of creating a woodland glen in my yard where I can quietly repose with my spinning wheel (or laptop, depending on my mood) and do what I do best…spin yarns. Pun most definitely intended.

And every year I forget that my back yard is one hundred percent Georgia clay and when it’s not a mudpit, it’s about as easy to cultivate as your average concrete.

In my fantasy I also forget that beneath that clay lurks the larvae that strikes fear and loathing in the heart of every gardener east of the Mississippi:

Popillia japonica Newman or Japanese Beetles.

Until I moved into this house, I’d never had a problem with the little iridescent marauders. I could grow a tomato that could induce drooling at twenty paces.

Not anymore. Now, before my poor tomatoes even have a chance to turn that ambivalent yellow-pink that indicates it’s thinking about ripening, the blasted beetles invade much like Attila the Hun and before I can even get outside with my bottle of insecticidal soap, nothing is left but a hollowed out husk.

Another problem I discovered was this scary Morticia Aadams-inspired plant called bindweed, or wild morning glory. This stuff is un-freakin’-believable.

You can’t pull it out, because much like gray hair, doing so will cause twenty new plants to sprout. If you spray it with an herbicide, it reacts as if you’d given it a shot of Miracle Grow mixed with B-12 and Fish Emulsion. Even two years under black plastic didn’t do a damned bit of good—ask me how I know!

So, as a gardener, on this property, I am thwarted. And frustrated. At best I can only be a voyeuristic gardener. I must be content to look at other gardener’s handiwork and sigh with discontent and look forward to the day when I can get the heck out of here and find a place where I can sink a shovel into the earth and not break my foot. A place where I can actually see plants growing that don’t have bitemarks in them and that aren’t sporting flowery boas made of morning glories.

Sunday, Muddy Sunday

2006-02-19T12:26:00.000-05:00

After getting a good soaking here yesterday with the threat of more rain, today, we're once again bogged down in that famous red Georgia MUD.Had the poo scared out of me this morning. Let the dogs out when I went down to make coffee. They came in while I was busy. I ignored them as usual. Then I heard this "scuffling" sound coming from the living room. That never means anything good.I turned on the dining room light and looked. Roxy was shaking the snot out of "something". I went over to investigate. It "looked like" a giant, hairy bullfrog, but could have been--well...anything, and since we live near a creek, God only knows what she could have found. ”Roxy, what do you have?” I asked in my quiet, “Mom voice”. She promptly dropped The Thing. I observed it for a moment, noticed it didn't twitch, so I got closer to investigate. It was once upon a time a stuffed toy, probably belonging to the kid next door.

Roxy said "Finders Keepers" and quickly regained possession of her newfound booty and hauled it someplace safe.

Weekend Plans

2006-02-18T06:57:00.000-05:00

Today hubby and I are headed over to Miss Mary's house. She has some stuff in her basement that needs repairing so hubby is taking care of that for her while I help her organize her make-up studio.

While she and I work, we'll also be brainstorming. I hope she has chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. I think better with all those pseudo-endorphins racing thru my bloodstream.

Tomorrow, my plan is to try my hand at making Limoncello. If you're thinking "wha...???" Limoncello is a lovely lemon liqueur. Usually made in Italy around the Amalfi Coast and Liguria.

It's really quite simple to make--in theory. Just use grain alcohol like Everclear or even a decent vodka and drop the peel of a dozen or so lemons in it. Put the bottle away for about 6 weeks, then combine with a simple syrup. Let it sit for a few more weeks, strain and there you have it.

I first tried this yummy-delicioso treat while on our cruise last month. It was hideously expensive--a thimblefull for about $4.00. My logic is that if I can make some that's anywhere near as good as what I tasted, it will make very nice Christmas presents this year and won't cost me an arm and a leg.

I'll keep you posted.

Lastly...I have a sort of poll question. Please post a comment with your response:

If you don't live alone and you have other adults living in the same household, do you think it only courteous to let the other members of the household know when you've returned home so as not to scare the crap out of them by appearing unexpectedly?

Resistance is Futile

2006-02-16T08:04:00.000-05:00

I had my first lesson in HTML yesterday and my head is still spinning. I AM NOT A TECHIE! I am doing this under duress only because I need to know how to do a few things here and on my website just in case my webmistress is unavailable. Nevertheless, it sucks. It sucks pondwater through a leaky straw.

I'd rather knit thigh-high stockings in laceweight yarn with 5 size 00 double point needles--with intarsia.

I whinged to my son-in-law and he laughed at me. Said it was "easy as pie".

"And when was the last time you made a pie?" I countered.

His AIM screen was blank for a long, long time. Finally...."Ummmm...."

I thought so.

Talking of knitting... I am on a quest for some silk yarn. I have a project to make for a VIP. And it has to be perfect. Silk would be the best option since I'm going to dye it. I'm thinking varigated shades of pink ranging from baby pink all the way down to deepest rose.

The Wednesday night Stitching for Sanity crew suggested a half-clap (short for clapotis). Which is a type of scarf or wrap that's knit on the bias with a deliberate dropped stitch built into the motif.

This idea has merit because the recipient probably doesn't have anything like it in her wardrobe and I have some funky handspun, that after it was dyed up looked like scrambled eggs with ketchup, that I can practice on.

The injured skillets from yesterday seem to be salvagable. I spent a while on the 12", heating and greasing, then I used it to fry onions, mushrooms and potatoes for supper.

I also very nicely pointed out to the perp that we just don't do things like that to cast iron. Not one whisper, not one syllable of apology escaped past said perps lips. Sometimes have to wonder if violence IS the answer.

All With The Best of Intentions

2006-02-15T08:20:00.000-05:00

Sometimes people have the best intentions to give you "help", but the results are more work for you.

Such is the case of the iron skillets.

Several months back, I stopped at the Lodge Cast Iron Store in South Pittsburg, TN. and bought an 8" skillet and a 12" skillet, brought them home and have spent weeks lovingly "seasoning" them. Each time I used them, I'd wash them without soap, dry them over a hot flame to sanitize them and wipe them down with oil, then let them cool down.

Yesterday, a member of the household who shall remain nameless, (but you who know me KNOW who I'm referring to) decided to "help" with kitchen duties by filling and running the dishwasher, then cooking dinner.

I went down to the kitchen this morning to make coffee for the am writing session. My favorite cup is my Borders Cafe' insulated commuter cup with lid. It was in the dishwasher. I opened the door and peered inside.

There were my once beautiful, black, shiny cast iron skillets, now rusted and gray. I didn't know whether to scream, faint or throw up.

I bent at the waist, took several long, deep breaths--in thru the nose, out thru the mouth-- and when the darkness had faded from around my peripheral vision, I removed the injured skillets from the dishwasher and plunked them on the stove.

My first instinct was to grab the filleting knife so handy in the block near my left hand, run upstairs and gut the perpetrator.

But, a cup of decaf calmed me down--somewhat--and a chat with an online buddy who is also a longtime user of fine cast ironware, convinced me that this was not an act of vandalism, but one of "helpfulness". "An A for effort and an F for Stupid" is what she said...

then recommended a bath of lard or bacon drippings and an all day low temp roast in the oven. For the skillets--not the perpetrator.

The Big Boom

2006-02-13T16:35:00.000-05:00

Every once in a while we just need a good scare. I think it revs up the heart and makes the blood flow better, don't you?

I was sitting here working on chapter two of Opus #1 rewrites and having random AIM chat sessions with online buddies when I heard this tremendous explosion. I mean, this was LOUD. The One O'Clock Gun at Edinburgh Castle had nothing on this.

Simultaneously my computer monitor went blank. After I no longer heard my heart beating like a rabbit's in my ears, I noticed that the room had gotten vewy vewy quiet.

Power outage....loud boom...hmmm...blown transformer. Joy. I could probably look forward to huddling in the rocking chair wrapped in a blanket, sipping my tepid coffee and reading for the next, oh, six hours.

I called our local Electric Membership company and reported it and amazingly, within half an hour, a technician showed up. It took him all of two seconds to fix the problem, which turned out to be a blown fuse. Kudos to them for promptness!

Now, my question: Why can't the great, all-powerful THEY invent a fuse that blows quietly? Or is it planned that way so as to a)alert the neighborhood that in a nanosecond the power will go off? or b)scare the ever-lovin' poo out of anyone who happens to be at home?

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day and for all you women with men who tell you they "don't need a special day to tell you they love you", Bullsnot! It's just an excuse for them to be cheap and not make an effort to give you something nice on a day when every other woman with a significant other is getting something nice.

Miss Mary doesn't have an S.O. She ditched her not-so-significant other a few years back after he'd proven one too many times he was about as loving as a cockleburr. So, I've planned a little something for her.

Hubby and I are going to the movies. Either The Matador or Nanny McPhee. Then it's home for...

Let It Snow--Please!

2006-02-12T15:13:00.000-05:00

There's just something fundamentally wrong with it being this cold, with snow "flurries" and still not having anything to show for it.

For the last twenty-four hours it's been bitterly cold, windy and little bits of white stuff have fallen from the sky, only to melt instantly.

This afternoon, hubby and I went out for a cheapo lunch (Wendy's Super Value Menu) and a walk at a local mall. I dressed in layers...so many I looked like one of the South Park characters. And I was still frassing COLD. I don't know about anyone else, but I have a difficult time even putting together a coherent thought when I'm that cold.

I wouldn't mind all this winter weather so much if it would actually snow and we'd have a nice winter wonderland to look at for a day or so. But nothing, zip, nada. Just the bleak grayness that is the deep south in winter. Even the birds are dull. Except the cardinals. They're a very pretty red.

Yesterday was the monthly Georgia Romance Writers meeting. I got there a little late because, as usual, I was running around like a decapitated chicken trying to do twenty things at once. At least I got there. The speaker was Anna DeStefano one of our members who spoke on improvization and creativity. I came home and finished fleshing out the prologue to Opus #5 and began work on Chaper One.

After I stop procrastinating, I'm going to get back to work... gee, I wonder what the origins of the word procrastination are? I think I'll check Google....

Random Pix

2006-02-10T12:23:00.000-05:00

I'm still bleeding over my workshop submission. But I thought I'd take a break and post some random pictures. The one above was taken on Hollywood boulevard. Mr. Jingle Bell Bunny here proves Hollywood isn't inhabited by only the Beautiful People! I took the picture because a writer acquaintance of mine is writing a book titled "A Bad Hare Day". He seems to fit the description quite nicely, don't you think?
Still in keeping with the animal theme, we move on to the Veggie Tails. These cute little guys were created by some of the chefs on the Sapphire Princess. My favorite is either the Eggplant Squirrel or the Pineapple Rooster.
Ahh, yes, furbabies...don't you just love them? This is Buffy the Mouse Slayer, AKA Princess Predator. Here, she's taking a much needed rest after attacking and dispatching a rogue paper towel that dared cross her path.
This is the infamous Rockhead Roxy, laying in her favorite spot downstairs--on the sofa--where she KNOWS she's not supposed to be.
This next photo is of some of my extended family. Far right is my dear Uncle Justin. He's my late dad's big brother and has become a surrogate dad to me. He's 91 years young and still does complicated chemistry and math problems to keep his mind sharp. Next to him are his three sons. The one standing next to me, Bill, is my buddy. We have a great time joking around. Next to him is Jon. Jon and I share a birthday. The one on the far left is Jim. Jim is the quiet one of the bunch. It's kind of hard to get a word in edgewise when you're the father of FOUR boys!! Notice how short I am compared to those Vikings???
Last but not least, my beautiful daughters. DD, the Elder is on the left. She's still single, guys. ;-) My baby is married though, so paws off.

Okay, breaktime over...back to work.

Well, That's one for the Book

2006-02-09T21:22:00.000-05:00

I can cross off another item on my "Life List"...it wasn't really on there in the first place, but it was something I'd never done, so what the heck?Last night, I got stuck for an hour in an elevator with 15 other people!!! Hubby and I had gone to Atlanta for a scotch tasting event at the Apparel Mart and afterward we stepped into the elevator to leave along with fourteen other participants. We got down about 12 floors and the danged thing stopped...just like that, between floors.The guy nearest the control panel picked up the telephone and the person on the other end asked us what state and city we were in!! Yikes! Scary enough to be stuck in an elevator, but to think that the person on the other end of your lifeline may be in oh, Pakistan, for instance, doesn’t exactly leave one rife with confidence.

After waiting for half an hour, while the security guards alternately laughed at us (it was a glass elevator, thank God or I'd probably be in the psych unit at Grady right now) and ignored us, one of the passengers got so fed up he called 911. Within four minutes, we heard the sirens. And the security guard’s expression went from smug and snotty to “Well Hell, now I’m gonna have to write a report. Just damn.” Once the fire department arrived, they had the elevator pulled up to the nearest floor and the doors opened within fifteen minutes.So, a little excitement in an otherwise average day...

I discovered that not all scotches are alike. Blended (malt and grain whisky) vs: pure malt. I’ve decided I like the cheaper stuff(blended) better and now I know why. The barley that makes up the malt is roasted over peat fires and that’s what gives it that characteristic “smokey” taste. (To me it just tastes like paint thinner).

And I am now an official member of the Johnny Walker Striding Man Society. I’m not quite sure what perks there are to this besides getting bombarded with email yet, but if I come across anything of interest, I’ll be sure to post it.

Red Margarita Anyone?

Fill a tall glass (12 oz.) with ice cubes.
Pour in 1 jigger Johnny Walker Red Label Scotch Whisky
Add:
4 oz. Jose Cuervo margarita mix
1 oz. cranberry juice
A splash of lemon lime soda

Can a Synopsis Cause an Aneurysm?

2006-02-08T12:30:00.000-05:00

The deadline for the Georgia Romance Writers annual March Workshop is rapidly approaching and I've been sitting here at the computer every single day from before dawn to late afternoon/early evening bleeding over the synopsis for my latest tome. (Working Title: I Spy).

For any of you writers, you know what I'm talking about. Is there anyone out there who wakes up in the morning and says "Whooppee, I get to write my synopsis today!"?? I think not.

They are the literary equivilent of root canal surgery without anesthesia. You're expected to dig down deep and give it all up (all being the entire story) to the editor/agent in about ten pages or so. In ten measly pages you're expected to get characterization, goals, motivation and conflict, theme, and about a gazillion different things down pat for every major character...and make it interesting. I ask you?!?
###
Monday we had a whopper storm come blasting through north Georgia. Here in the Atlanta suburbs we dodged a bullet and got a wee bit of sleet mixed with torrential rain. The only reason I mention this is because yesterday morning, I went down to make some coffee and noticed something odd in my dining room.

There was a yellow string running from the kitchen and it stretched tightly against the legs of the table before it disappeared out the dog door. I had my cell phone in hand because I was expecting a return telephone call. Like an idiot I decided to follow and see where this string was going. I stepped outside and saw that it was not string.

It seems that Rockhead Roxy (the mutt dog that DD the Elder adopted then lost interest in and who now calls me Mommy) found a skein of yellow baby yarn. She thought it was great fun to go whooping and hollering through the house with it before heading out the dog door, up the muddy bank and through some small sapling pine trees before she lost interest in it and dropped it at the very top corner of our back yard.

I got this insane notion that I could retrieve the yarn (waste not, want not!). So, still clutching the cell phone in one hand, I attempted to make like a mountain goat and scamper up the hill. I got about oh, one whole step before I slid and fell face first UPHILL.

Now, I'm not a girl who likes to get her hands dirty. I even wear gloves when I pick stuff out of the sink. But there I was, covered in red Georgia clay from feet to cell phone.

We writers have a phrase for heroines who don't think before they act. "She's too dumb to live." Yesterday I, do believe I fell right into that category!

2006-02-07T07:06:00.000-05:00

Cabo San Lucas, southernmost city in Baja California Sur, Mexico. As usual, we arrived around 7:00 am, but unlike our other two ports, Cabo has no dock big enough for cruise ships.

They probably like it that way. The cruise line has to contract with the local authorities and private companies for tenders to take passengers from the ships to the port. Since we weren't on a scheduled tour, we opted for a leisurely breakfast up top and waited to go ashore. We got there around 9:00.

As soon as we hit dry land we were bombarded with offers for boat tours, ATV tours, parasailing...you name it, someone was offering it. We took one guy up on his offer to take us along the coastline in his glass-bottom ponga (it had a canopy) for an hour and he'd show us the sights.

The above photo is probably the most famous sight in Baja California; Los Arcos, the Arch. If you saw Pirates of the Caribbean, you saw Los Arcos.

Pelicans, I've discovered, are wily birds. The fishermen buy bait and store it in floating bait cans, tethered to rocks. These sneaky guys above have figured out what's in those cans and they sit on rocks and wait until they think no one is looking then swoop in for a quick snack.
A little further up the coastline is a small colony of Pacific sealions. You can see just how concerned they were over our presence. Sorry the picture is a little blurred, I was in a boat that was doing it's best to imitate a rocking horse.
The photo you see up here is Lover's Beach. Probably named because it's so secluded. I'm sure you can access by land--if you're a goat. But otherwise, you're stuck swimming or getting there by boat. The odd thing about this little spot is that it's actually two beaches. The side you can see here is on the Sea of Cortez. Walk a little ways and you'll hit the Pacific Ocean.
Here's another spot that was shown in Pirates of the Caribbean. This cave is on the Pacific side of the peninsula.
Once our little expedition was done and our intrepid captain had us safely to shore, we walked along the malecon and into town. We were looking for fish tacos, but never found any that we could afford. Prices along the waterfront were higher than Los Angeles!

This poor pelican has a hook in his mouth and probably can't fish the way his cousins do. He's reduced to being a huckster. I took his picture, but sadly, didn't have any fish to give him. He doesn't look too malnourished, though. I'm sure the fishermen keep him in anchovies and mackerel.

We found a little mercado and went in to browse around. I wound up buying a couple of Talavera salsa bowls. They're cute. I'll take a picture and post them one of these days.

All that walking and sightseeing gave us a powerful thirst so we stopped at a little cerveseria and had a Pacifico (with lime, naturally).
This picture is for all my fibery friends. There was a shop in one of the more upscale shopping spots in Cabo that had the most amazing rugs. The wool is dyed using all natural dyes. The red is from the cochineal bug--a little beetle that lives on the nopal cactus. After the wool is dyed, it's handspun, then woven. The backside of these rugs are as perfect as the front. I wanted to take one home so bad but couldn't afford one even the size of a placemat. Maybe next trip.
This last picture is of Finger Rock. It marks the southernmost point of Baja California and the confluence of the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Cortez.

January is prime whale season since the gray whales migrate from Alaska to have their babies in the warm(er) waters of Baja. I was really hoping we'd see at least one--and we did!

As our ship made it's way north, we had not one, not two, but three cetaceous escorts for the first hour! Two gray whales and a humpback.

Not only that, but just as we thought we'd seen as many biologicals as we were going to, a whole school of Pacific Bottlenose Dolphins gave us a rousing Bon Voyage by criss-crossing in front of the bow of the ship. :) We couldn't have had a more perfect sendoff.

2006-02-06T07:30:00.000-05:00

I was up and out on deck before 6:00 am on January 18. I wanted to watch us sail into Mazatlan. I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out to the sun deck. For being in the tropics, it was a wee bit chilly that morning. I was really wishing I'd brought my sweater, but I didn't want to miss anything so I toughed it out. And I'm glad I did.

Soon, I could see faint rocky outlines close to the ship, and we'd slowed our speed considerably. I knew we were getting close to port. Gradually, with the glow of sunrise, I was able to make out a small fishing village off the starboard. It was eerily quiet.

Then a rooster crowed. A moment later it was answered by another. As the sky grew brighter I could see a squadron of pelicans swooping in from the sea. Overhead dozens of frigate birds were whirling and gliding, sometimes coming so close I could almost touch them.

Ponga boats and shrimpers headed out to sea for the day and the captains waved as they passed. Soon, a tugboat came along side and assisted our behemoth of a ship with a very tight U turn and we docked at 7:00 am.

For the first time I had a chance to really see how big our ship was compared to other cruise ships. Right behind us was a smaller ship, the Voyager of the Seas. It was Lilliputian compared to us.
I dashed down to our stateroom and thankfully, hubby was already showered and dressed. The four of us ate breakfast on board the ship, then took a pulmonia, or open air taxi into town where we walked a bit then found the mercado, where we shopped a bit. The above picture is of a produce stall. I was amazed and very jealous that these folks get year round access to this incredible produce.
After getting a chance to practice my "hover technique" in the public loo, (and having a good laugh over it with my sister) we all began walking again in the general direction of the cathedral. Didn't get any good pictures, however, because it's undergoing a facelift. We did find another pulmonia driver who offered to take us around the city for a very good price, so we all piled in for the ride of our lives.

Mazatlan may be located on a beach, but it is anything but FLAT. There are all kinds of beautful homes built on the tippy tops of hills overlooking the harbor and the ocean. Our driver, Jesus, took us around the old part of the city, then up into the hills to see the houses. There were a few times when I thought we'd have to get out and PUSH!

The photo above is, from right to left, Me, my hubby, my sister and her hubby. The picture was taken by our driver on a hill overlooking the harbor.

The above picture here is the Malecon, or seawall in Mazatlan. It's the longest in Mexico, stretching from the lighthouse to past the Zona Dorada, some fifteen miles distant.

After our tour, which included a stop to watch the divers who risk their necks for the tourists by jumping from a platform into a pool of water which is only five feet deep unless they hit it at just the right moment, concluded with the driver dropping us back near the cathedral. We decided we needed more exercise so we walked back to the ship, with a stop at a small outdoor "cafe" for a lunch of tacos and strawberry soda. Ten tacos and 4 sodas for about $4.00 US. Amazing.

We got back to the ship, cleaned up, rested a bit, then had afternoon tea. By then, my feet were howling at me, so we changed and hit the hot tub.
This last picture is one I will always look at with a tear in my eye. Right about the same time I took this picture, a dear lady, wonderful writer and fellow Georgia Romance Writer slipped the bonds of Earth.

Virginia Ellis, you will be missed.

Tomorrow, Cabo San Lucas, I promise!

2006-01-26T12:16:00.000-05:00

Hubby and Me, leeaving San Pedro, California, January 14 (our anniversary)

The Rio Cuale, Puerto Vallarta.

Our Lady of Guadalupe Cathedral, Puerto Vallarta.

The Malecon, Puerto Vallarta.

Sunset, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.

Mexico Cruise Diary Pt. 1

2006-01-26T11:50:00.000-05:00

I'm back! Had a wonderful time on the cruise, and was thoroughly spoiled. I haven't been that pampered in...well....ever!

We flew out of Atlanta via Minneapolis and arrived in Los Angeles where our daughter and son-in-law picked us up. We hooked up with my sister and her husband at a nearby fast food place and from there, we began our tour of Beverly Hills, Bel Air and Hollywood. You'd think living in Southern California for most of my life I'd have seen those places at least once, but I never did.

Outside of Graumann's Chinese Theater I discovered my hand is the same size as Marilyn's (whose isn't?) but for some reason, her feet were approximately the same size as Malibu Barbie's. It's got to be an optical illusion brought on by those ridiculously high heels they wore back then.

At the Kodak Theater I was told very impolitely that I was not allowed to loiter on the marble staircase because someone by the name of Mary J. Blige would be coming down that same staircase shortly. Never did see her, or if I did, couldn't have identified her to save my life.

We had dinner at a really nice Japanese restaurant at the top of the Kodak building, then headed back to Valencia for sleep.

Our ship, the Sapphire Princess, set sail from San Pedro, California, at sunset on January 14, which also happens to be our wedding anniversary.

Just before sunset on our first full day at sea, we spotted dolphins riding the bow wave of the ship. What a treat!

We arrived in Puerto Vallarta early Tuesday morning. After having our picture taken on the gangway, we headed into town and met up with my sister and her husband to do some shopping.

Instead of the usual tourist traps, we went to the Mercado Municipale, or public market which is situated on the banks of the Rio Cuale.

After not having been to PV in 30 years, I'd forgotten how lush and tropical this place is. I fell in love all over again. I was eyeing some Talavera pottery and heard a rustling in the tree above my head. I looked up and found myself staring at an iguana that had to be at least 6 feet long. He didn't hang around, instead, he leapt from one tree limb to another and was quickly lost from view.

After a lunch of fish tostadas and Pacifico beer we headed for the beach so I could rebaptize myself. Since in real life I'm land-locked, I have to put my feet in salt water at every opportunity or I become--uh...not very pleasant to live with.

Our shopping done, we rested ourselves for a while on the Malecon, or seawall and my sister did a quick watercolor while I people-watched. All too soon, it was time to head back to the ship.

At sunset we bid goodbye to Puerto Vallarta and set a northerly course for our next port of call, Mazatlan.

Anyone See A Shoe?

2006-01-12T09:10:00.000-05:00

     I’m looking for a lost shoe. Its mate is still in the top of my closet where it normally lives, but the shoe in question is not. I think elves have taken it to play dress up. I’ve looked for the shoe and can’t find it anywhere. It’s not like it’s hard to spot. How many gold-tone leather pumps can there be in one house?
     At any rate, in less than 24 hours hubby and I will be boarding a plane for Los Angeles, so that means that all necessary items for our trip must be packed tonight. The elves must simply fork over the shoe or I’ll have to go buy another pair. I’ve given them a 12:30pm deadline.
     Yesterday the main characters for my next book simply would not leave me alone. They insisted that I write something for them. I figured I should probably do what they said or they wouldn’t give me a moments peace on my cruise.
     I wrote 38 pages.
     One minute it was 8:30 in the morning and the next thing I know it’s getting dark out. The only reason I came up for air was because the dog was dancing the pee-pee dance and barking frantically at me.
     I looked at the clock on the monitor and gloriosky! It was 5:30! I rushed through the house, threw a load of clothes in the washer, filled the dishwasher (and let the dog out), took a quick shower and still managed to make it to my knitting group on time.
     Poor Stitch N Bitch Gwinnett.  We’ve had a time of it lately. When I first started going, they were meeting at a little restaurant with hideous lighting and very uncomfortable chairs.
     A new gal joined the group and her partner just happened to work at a coffeehouse. She suggested we start meeting there. It was like knitter’s heaven. Comfy chairs and sofas, yummy food and drinks, and the lighting was excellent. Then, out of the blue, around Thanksgiving, the owners of the coffeehouse decided to close. They’d been open a mere six months or so and weren’t yet making a profit. Yet another fine example of the expectation of instant gratification.
     The following week we met at a Starbucks. Nasty, overroasted, overpriced coffee, teensy tables with teensy chairs and the atmosphere clearly indicated it was a “no loitering zone”.
     Back to the restaurant we went. Then one bright member suggested the library. Hallelujah! Nice wide tables to spread out large projects, chairs that are kind to middle-aged bums, and the lighting! Oh, I could wax poetic about the lighting! I think we may have found our new home. So what if they don’t sell food and drinks? If I want one that bad, I’ll bring it with me.
     This will be my last post until I return from the cruise. I promise to take lots of pictures and will post a couple so you can see what you missed!
     See you later~~

St. Distaff's Day

2006-01-08T18:22:00.000-05:00

Today the Handspinners Guild celebrated St. Distaff's Day. I'm sure it's not in any way the traditional type of celebration that used to go on back in the day, but we enjoy it.

This year we held our annual Market Day today, as well. Members use this as an opportunity to clear out their stash and/or buy stuff from other members. I brought a some wool I'd culled from my own stash as well as my suri alpaca. The wool sold, but the alpaca was a wash today. Oh well, maybe next month.

Quite unexpectedly, I came home with a spinning wheel. Not that I don't already have one, mind you. I have a very respectable little Ashford Kiwi. And it's been a very nice wheel for the last 4 years--for a beginner. But--I'm no longer a beginner and I've been longing for a more advanced wheel.

The new wheel is an Ashford Traditional (a "traddy" in the lingo). She's about 25 years old. She's not quite as portable as the Kiwi, but that's fine. She fits in the trunk of my car and that works for me.

Another plus is that I have a potential buyer for the Kiwi, so my net out of pocket cost for the Traddy will be a whopping $50. Can't beat a buy like that!

Here's a picture of me and the new girl getting to know each other:

She still hasn't told me what her name is, but she did mention that she likes the living room very much and would like to stay there!

Haven't heard anything on the new job, so I think I'll email them tomorrow. I have to go to the unemployment office and sit through two hours of mind-numbingly boring lecture on "how to get a job" and "how to market yourself". All in order to keep getting my benefits. Ugh!

I wonder if they'd object if I brought my knitting with me--or do they expect me to take notes???

Happy New Year

2006-01-04T08:31:00.000-05:00

Wow! Where did 2005 go? Seems like it just zoomed past at "warp speed" as they used to say on Star Trek.

I've been busy this last week having fun with my daughter and son-in-law who are visiting from the Los Angeles area.

They gave us a digital camera for Christmas, so I'll gradually be learning how to include pictures here. Yay!

Drove over to visit my uncle and cousins in southern-central Tennessee on Monday. Had a fine time visiting with them and stopped in Lynchburg to tour the Jack Daniel's distillery on the way home yesterday.

I never knew so much went into making whiskey. And they recycle everything...and I do mean every-thing. Right down to the charcoal and the barrels. The charcoal gets compressed with sawdust to make smoke nuggets for using in home food smokers (imagine the taste of that 140 proof whiskey as it permeates a nice chunk of salmon! Yum!)

The barrels, which are only used once, are sold and people use them for everything from planters to making "swoosh". To make swoosh, you fill a used barrel with spring water and let it sit for several days. The water leaches out the leavings from the whiskey making process and flavors the water. If it was me, I'd use that swoosh to make things like lemonade, hot toddies, and tea--hot or iced.

My dear daughter discovered there is a Waffle House chocolate pie famine in the state of Georgia. On the way home she decided she needed a slice. Four stops between Acworth and Atlanta and not one slice to be bought. She had to settle for a Krispy Kreme donut. (chocolate glazed custard filled).

Not much news on the job front. I had an interview last Friday. Things look very promising. They want to hire me, but it's up to Dr. D as to whether or not he's going to make a deal with them to send all his patients to New Lab. If so, then I'll be managing a Patient Service Center. If not, then there's a doctor's office in a nearby community where they can use me. So, one way or the other, I'll most likely be back to sucking blood after my cruise.

Son-in-Law and I had a nice long chat on the ride home last night. He helped me plot out my next novel! There were some sticking points that I'd been having trouble with and he gave me some brilliant ideas. Gotta love that kid!

Finally--New Year's Resolutions: Are you for 'em or agin' 'em?

I'm not much for making them...I figure if you want to do something badly enough, you don't have to wait for a specific date on a calendar to do it. But recently, I decided I'd had it up to my eyeballs with negativity, so I decided that I was going to start thinking positive and banish negative thoughts from my brain. Except when it comes to things like mammogram and pap results, of course!

My Christmas Eve

2005-12-28T08:04:00.000-05:00

I know it's December 28th, but today is Christmas Eve at my house. We postponed Christmas until Dear Daughter, the Younger and her husband arrive to be with us for the holidays. Their flight arrives at Ten O'Something tonight.

Last night, Hubby and I made a mad dash to Athens--90 mile round trip--to get a much sought after Play Station game that SIL has been wanting. DD asked us pretty please if we would go pick it up as the game store was holding it for her.

While we were driving, my cell rang. It was AM, the sales rep for "New Lab". Her meeting went well with Dr. D. He's very anxious to get a Patient Service Center up and running in the empty suite next to where I was working. All that remains is to get the paperwork done--both theirs and mine. So, today I have to call the guy who would be my immediate supervisor and arrange for an interview, my drug test, etc...

One nice thing that Dr. K from "Old Lab" did, was send me a glowing letter of reference. He called me an exemplary employee and said that I would be missed. Said I was completely professional and dedicated in all my endeavors, etc... I about fell off my chair when I read it, as he'd NEVER praised me like that before. In fact, in order to get a raise, I had to threaten to quit!

So, enough blather about labs....

I've had a lot of thinking time on my hands and Eric, the hero of my next novel, has been a little more vocal of late. (You really can't miss that County Donegal brogue)

He told me he plays the pennywhistle. Don't ask me why this is important because he's not saying. Oh, and his last name is Shanahan. His parents ran a pub and he went to college on a rugby scholarship.

For a very short time he was an alterboy in his parish church, but that came to an abrupt end when he set fire to the priest's robe with a votive candle. (Thank God it was made of wool and was slow to burn or the parishoners might have seen Father Flambe at the alter at Matins that winter day!)

Sla'n a fha'ga'il ag duine (goodbye)

2005-12-25T08:01:00.000-05:00

Wishing you all a very...

Merry Christmas!!

At Loose Ends

2005-12-23T13:51:00.000-05:00

Spent the morning packing up my stuff and waiting for an opportunity to speak to Dr. D about this other lab. His last appointment was supposed to be at 11:00, but he had a slew of walk-ins. I finally couldn't stand it another minute and walked over there about 12:30.

Apparently my ex-boss is telling him one thing and me another. Dr. K assured him we would only be inoperable for "a couple of months at most". So he was a little confused when I presented him with the option of going with this other lab. But he said he'd be happy to speak with the rep.

It's just a matter of space. He has none in his office. The lab space is already leased to Dr. K and unless he agrees to sublet it, that's out...so....???

All I know is if I don't get my final paycheck...he'll be hearing from an attorney. I've saved up a huge amount of timecards and he's never once paid me time and a half OT like the law requires. I and several other disgruntled employees can make his life very uncomfortable for him if need be.

Update: Spoke with the Sales Rep for the other lab. She's calling Dr. D on Tuesday, then calling me to meet her for coffee after so she can give me the skinny. She did say that even if things don't work out with Dr. D there's a very good possibility that her company can find a position for me.

Tomorrow I'll be heading over to the lab to filch the lab logs for Sept. & Oct. so her boss can see what kind of volume I've been doing.

Merry Effing Christmas

2005-12-22T18:58:00.000-05:00

I'm out of a job.

My boss called me this afternoon and told me that due to some "legal problems" that have come up with Medicare/Medicaid billing he had to let me go. (Nothing that involved me) He said he was really sorry, tried to get an extension but the gov't said no way, he had to close down immediately. No severence, just paid through tomorrow. Probably won't even get the vacation time I'm owed.

So, tomorrow, I'm cleaning out my office.

On the bright side (and I always try to look for the bright side), a friend who also got laid off called and said that it really didn't matter to her because she had another job and was going to turn in her notice anyway.

A new lab is in town and they're full service (as opposed to my former employer). They came into the office where she was working, offered the doctors a better deal, they took it. The lab then turned around and offered my friend her same job with a huge raise!

She called the sales rep for this lab, told them my situation and she said she'd call me tomorrow and said if they get the contract for the doctor I've been working with, they'll hire me.

So, please keep toes crossed, think good thoughts, say a prayer, light a candle...do whatever you can to help me get through this, please!

On the knitting front, my little group has decided to return to the place where we were originally meeting. A little French style place that has scrummy, but too expensive food, and horrid lighting. The chairs are hard on middle-aged rear-ends and the surrounding conversations can sometimes get so loud it's hard to hear ourselves think let alone what we're saying to one another.

Well, I think I've rattled on enough. I'm throwing together chili dogs for supper tonight and I must get cracking.

Ta~~

Congratulations--It's a Tree!

2005-12-20T20:02:00.000-05:00

We finally have a Christmas tree! We'd put it off for so long because of the carpet that I was afraid we'd end up with one of those Charlie Brown trees that drop needles every time you look at it, but we got a nice, fresh cut tree...paid a little more than I wanted, but hey, you can't have everything. (I keep telling myself that, but I don't really believe it.)

Yesterday was one of those days that make me wish I had a rewind button on my life. Apparently I forgot to make sure the bottom part of the gate confining "the girls" into the kitchen was latched. When Himself got home there were about a dozen pulls in the carpet. He just HAD to call me and blast me about it, even though it was a mistake...not something I'd done intentionally...it was half MY money that bought that carpet, after all.

Right after that, this doddering old couple (she's 89 and he's 90) come wobbling into the lab. They're regulars, so you'd think they'd know the drill, but I have to ASK them for their insurance even though I have a sign right there in front of them telling them I need to see it at every visit. (apparently 38 point Arial Bold font is too small for their aged eyes).

The old lady gets in the back and I have to ask her to take her coat off, ask her to roll up her sleeve. (Not the left sleeve, the RIGHT sleeve. You've been here before, remember???) Then I can't find a vein. I ask if she's had any water to drink. "No, but I've had several cups of coffee."

~~sigh~~ I move to her hand and while I'm lecturing her yet again on why she needs to drink water on the days she has doctor appointments, the vein is repeatedly collapsing on me. Only by sheer determination that I'm only going to stick this woman once was I able to collect enough for the lab.

Then she has the nerve to get pissy with me for being aggravated!!!

Today her husband comes in--alone. Not sure what she did or did not tell him, but he was nice as can be and for the first time ever -- he was adequately hydrated! Knock me over with a feather! On top of that, he was cordial (something he's never been before). The fact that he tried to give me his VISA card in place of his Medicare card, and that he drove himself--well, let's just say, he's lucky I'm honest and I'm glad I wasn't on the road at the same time he was!

Joke of the Day: What do you get when you cross Johnny Mathis with a Beagle?

Ans: The dog that lives next door. (Earplugs definitely recommended. Acoholic nightcap optional)

Nighty Nite

Guild Sunday

2005-12-18T19:17:00.000-05:00

I wound up taking a box of Walker's Shortbread to the guild party, but I could have saved myself the effort. We were very heavy (pardon the pun) on desserts and not enough "real" food this year. Just the opposite of last year.

I sold about $100 worth of my alpaca. Whoo-hoo!! I'll take it to Distaff Day on January 8th and maybe I'll sell the rest.

Distaff Day, from what I've been told, originally was the day when the women of the household resumed the chore of spinning after the Christmas/Yule holidays. But for us, it's just another excuse to get together, spin yarns (the fibery stuff as well as stories) and eat yummy foods.

We usually hold our annual stash clean out sale in November but due to a conflict, we decided to hold it at Distaff Day. It'll be quite an event. I've been working on bagging up stuff I want to delete from my stash. (Don't ask me why I had to have that Leiscester Longwool--because I don't know!!)

Insomnia

2005-12-17T23:47:00.000-05:00

Let's just say I don't "do" coffee very well.

I had two cups of caramel toffee coffee this morning while I was chatting online and I'm still wide awake.

In less than 12 hours I have to be at my handspinners guild meeting and I'll be there sleep deprived. How fun.

I did get a few things accomplished today, though.

I bagged up 6 pounds of white suri alpaca to sell tomorrow. If I can sell the whole lot, it will be a nice chunk of change--which I can definitely use.

I also got a few bobbins of nice soft yarn spun up. It will be dyed black and made into fingerless mitts for DD the Younger.

Nothing going on the writing front except cogitating on the next novel. It'll be a spin-off of this last one. Couldn't help it, as the main character's best friend kept stealing the scenes. I had to promise her her own book so she'd shut up.

Ok, off to shove the dogs off the bed and see if I can get some shut-eye.

TTFN

Introducing Myself

2005-12-17T10:30:00.000-05:00

Hi!

Thought I'd post a brief bio for those of you who don't already know me.

I was born and raised in America's Finest City, San Diego. I'd have happily lived there 'til I went Tango-Uniform, but fate had other plans and I was dragged, kicking and screaming to Georgia 14 years ago. It's home now, but San Diego will always have a special place in my heart.

I still have to dip my tootsies in the Pacific at least once a year or I become unbearable to live with.

Hubby Alan, and I have two grown daughters. DD the Elder still calls our nest home and works as an admin assistant to a builder, but DD the Younger fled back to her California roots and married a young man from Los Angeles ( I call him Darling Geek SIL). She's in nursing school right now.

We have a house full of fur babies, too. Sunni, the "Alpha Bitch", a corgi-cross (crossed with what, I have no idea) rules the roost. Then there's Pester Ann, a timid little Rat Terrier, and Roxy (or Rox-in-the-Head) a mutt of unknown parentage with a penchant for eating shoes, garden hoses, rugs, pinecones and cell phone car chargers.

To keep the wolf from the door, I work days as a vampire (is that an oxymoron?). Meaning, I work drawing blood for a living. But my real passion is writing.

I just completed my fifth novel and hope that by February (the Good Lord willing and I can keep focused) it will be in the hands of both an agent and an editor at a major publishing house, both of whom have expressed interest in the project.

I've been an active member of Romance Writers of America since 1991 when I joined Orange County Romance Writers. Then in 1997, I joined Georgia Romance Writers.

When I'm not busy puncturing people's veins, or tapping away on my Alphasmart, I keep my fingers flying by spinning my own knitting yarn, then turning that yarn into things like socks, scarves, hats and shawls.

How I got into this is a story into itself, but in a nutshell...

Several years ago, my sister decided I needed a hobby besides writing. So, she sent me 6 POUNDS of llama hair and a drop spindle. I went along with the game and got hooked. Soon, I bought a spinning wheel, and before I knew it, I had wool all over the freakin' place!

Hubby gave me an ultimatum..."Either do something with all this yarn or stop spinning"...so I learned to knit.

I found out there were others with my addiction near me. Only they didn't have a 12 step program to stop...they were enablers...BIG TIME.

see: www.peachtreehandspinnersguild.org

Now, every Spring, you'll find me at least one or two weekends during our annual Rennaisance Festival dressed up in 16th Century garb sitting at our booth spinning away while paying guests gawk and take pictures.

Okay, I've rambled on enough for this first post.

Gotta get my shower and at least pretend to have some interest in household chores....

Til next time!