A Gingerbread Latte, A Laptop, and A Good Story

Sicko me

2012-02-05T18:32:00.000-08:00

I have a cold and a tummy boo. I don't feel good. I get cold so I put on a sweater. Then I get sweaty and I take it off. Then I get cold again, and the sweater goes back on. Warm, and the sweater comes off. And the process starts again, with me sneezing and blowing my nose throughout.

I get sick only once a decade or so. For a long time I thought it was because I am a mom, and as a mom, I am blooming with acquired immunities. Let's face it: for years you get sneezed on and urped on and adorable little beings want to kiss you with their germ-crusty little mouths.... After a while the immune system cowgirls up for the job and you can laugh in the face of any nasty bug.

That was the reason I rarely got sick.

Ah, so wrong, grasshopper! Something else is a-work here.

Here's the real reason: I have no patience with being sick. I hate sitting still and letting the viral icks run loose in my system.

I have things to do!

My kids did great sick faces. You know the kind, where you think sad, sad thoughts (Lassie fell in the well, the store is out of chocolate milk and will never, ever sell it again, for Christmas you will get only underwear and educational toys, etc.) and your face mirrors it so perfectly that no one with an ounce of sanity could doubt for a single minute that this next breath could easily be your last, and you will expire, right there on the couch, like a forgotten coupon.

I got lots of advice from friends. Sit down, feet up. Or go to bed. Drink water. No, tea. Herbal brews. Read. Sleep. Do nothing.

Do nothing? How does that work?

Here's what I did: I went to the grocery store because the cat needed food and a new litter box and litter. My sick face was fully made up (vanity, oh vanity!) and I was wearing my favorite Itasca sweatshirt, and all was good and I felt better when I was outside, and I thought maybe I was actually healed, that my maternal immunities had finally kicked in and then....

Right by the cat food, HEAT! No, COLD! No, HEAT! No, COLD! And let's face it, there are only so many layers a woman can adjust at the grocery store before she's carted off by the cops. And I so do NOT look good in jail-orange.

So I finished my shopping, shivering and sweating, went home, unloaded the car, fed the cat, set up her new litter box, and collapsed into an antisocial heap in my chair, with my sick face on, thinking my own sad thoughts: the cat doesn't want to eat THAT food and she doesn't want to potty in THAT litter box with THAT litter.

And I forgot to buy the cold meds and aspirin. PLUS (now, here's the kicker) I'm sick on the weekend! THE WEEKEND! Now, that's sad.

La Domestique

2012-01-15T16:18:00.001-08:00

I had the urge to go all domestique today, so I hied myself into the kitchen and began to destroy any semblance of order in there.

I began with a turkey. Now, those of you who are loyal readers know of my frequent run-ins with turkeys. I don't know what it is, but the nasty creatures have it in for me. I don't care for them alive, and I don't care for them dead, but I'm a mom and I must feed the Spaethlings.

Today's went pretty well, except for my continuing puzzlement about which end is which. And it does matter, I gather from the directions. If you're to get the mystery packets out, you have to dig in the right end. Actually, you need to dig in both ends. There's stuff hidden throughout the turkey.

There's something new in the birds, I hate to tell you. I think it's the body part of the neck, but I'm not sure. I tugged and pulled and wrenched, and the thing would not leave the turkey, so I guess it's supposed to be in there. I hope so. It stayed in there.

All went well, though, until I took the turkey out of the oven. And I saw this.

Does this look right to you? What happened? Why did my turkey collapse? It tasted okay, so I just wrote this up to another terrible chemical accident at the turkey farm and went on to Project Two: Wild Rice Soup.

I've never made it before but I found a recipe that was repeated frequently on the web by sites I trust.

Well. No.

It made too much to fit in the recommended pot. It didn't thicken (the roux was added at the end, which in my culinary experience means it'll only do its rouxy thing on reheating). But maybe the weirdest part is the directions forgot the rice. In wild rice soup.

Ah well. Add a glass of wine or two and your favorite music, make sure you're sitting with good company, and, as my daughter says, "It's all good."

That's the best part of a domestique day!

Christmas

2011-12-25T14:15:00.000-08:00

Today is Christmas, and you know what that means in the Spaeth household. Yes, turkey wrangling!

I did okay this time. Found all the horrendously icky bits (though I had to dig around to find the aptly named "package"--it was in the, uh, other end if you get my drift), dispatched them to the trash, and got the turkey in the oven.

Then I merrily did some dishes, sang some carols to myself, talked myself out of an early glass of wine and settled for coffee from my brand-new Keurig (Merry Christmas, Janet!), and did a time check.

Heart stop.

3:52??? How did that happen? What did I do with the day? I know I read the paper but honestly, I'm a fast reader. Did the puzzle (crossword, that is--abandoned the Sudoku), brushed my cat--how did that consume the entire day?

Then I realized that on my new stove, the timer takes over the clock. 3:52 meant 3 hours and 52 minutes til the turkey was done. It was only really something like 1:00.

I was telling Music Guy about this, and he pointed out that if I'd watched the clock on the stove, I would have seen time going backwards! 3:52, 3:51, 3:50.... I would probably have put down the coffee and found that bottle of wine (no glass--bottle!).

Now, for a story of Christmas Past. I put this on Facebook, but I like the story so much I'm telling it here too.

I was 2 or 3, and it was almost Christmas. My mom was just getting ready to plunk me in the bath when the phone rang. My dad answered it.

"Janet, it's Santa!"

I tore into the living room, totally naked, took the phone from Dad, and said, "Santa, I don't have any clothes on!"

Santa laughed and my mom nearly fainted because....

It was a spot from the radio station, and we were live, and I had just announced it to all of Grand Island, Nebraska.

Yes, we moved shortly after that. To another state.

Merry Christmas, all!

Counting my blessings...still

2011-11-29T18:39:00.000-08:00

Well, there went another month. My last post here was 25 days ago! And much fascinating stuff has happened in those 25 days! But this post is about the highlight of this month--Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year. I'm torn by the inherent issues of the actual holiday itself but what I do love about it is that it truly is, for many of us, a time to recognize our blessings and to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, we can't take credit for them.

Every day of my life I say the same three words: "I am blessed." I am blessed beyond what I deserve. I am, without much thought on my part, taken care of. I'm warm. Fed. Loved. Safe.

It's the last two I'm especially grateful for.

For those of you, family and friends alike, I am thankful. You keep me feeling loved and safe. You are blessings above measure.

I am blessed. I love you all!

Non, je ne regrette rien

2011-11-04T22:37:00.000-07:00

Edith Piaf sang, "Non, je ne regrette rien," which means in French, "No, I don't regret anything." She was an amazing singer (with amazing eyebrows--I'm starting to notice a theme here, but I'm meandering) and this is a fantastic song.

The lyrics tell us how she's thrown away the sadnesses of the past, and it ends with a yummy bit that makes me weak in the knees:

No, I don't feel sorry about anything,
Because my life, my joys, today begin with you. (Janet translation)

Excuse me while I pause to wallow in the lines. Those are beautiful words. In French, they're an absolute knock-out:

Non, je ne regrette rien,
Car ma vie, car mes joies,
Aujourd'hui, ca commence avec toi.

I'd like to add one teensy thing: this isn't exactly true. I do regret a whole lot of stuff I've done, and I think that's natural. Nothing too major, and nothing that there are outstanding warrants for.

Music Guy and I were talking this weekend, having a deep conversation about who-knows-what (he'll remember, bless his little Memorex heart) (he can remember all kinds of stuff! He probably even knows where his snowboots are, although I am just a wee bit unsure at the moment regarding the location of mine) and I said something about regrets being my school--that I keep them with me because I've learned from them, and they make me a better person.

That's a whale of a sentence. Oops.

I'm not perfect, but every day I get closer to my ideal of who I should be. Who I can be. And, honestly, who I must be.

Okay, enough seriousness. What else is going on in JanetWorld?

Well, Janet went a-wayfaring. Oddly, so did Music Guy! We had a fantastic time in the Cities, seeing friends and family and enjoying an eating frenzy. I have to report that I did not enter a single store, not even the gift shop at the Walker. Apparently it's possible. Who knew. Usually when I get to the Cities, the credit card comes out and doesn't go back into the wallet until it's fairly well melted.

Halloween came and went, and so did the candy.

Birthday came and went, and I'm a year older, just like that. In the shift of a second, I aged an entire year!

We're at the turn of the seasons now, my darlings, so find your snowboots and make sure your mittens match. It's near.

But meanwhile, enjoy the extra hour you get tomorrow night!

October music

2011-10-23T21:52:00.000-07:00

Music Guy gave me tickets to the Museum concert series for my birthday! (Not to worry if you haven't gotten me something. There are still 12 shopping days left in which to select something absolutely exquisite.)

Today was the first day of the series. I drove since I have a campus parking pass, and it occurred to me as I whipped into the parking garage (and visibly aging Music Guy, who kind of yelped as the wall came perilously close to his side of the car) that not everybody appreciates my driving skills. Eh. Que sera.

The concert was marvelous! I realized that hearing the Mozart piece was like hearing a long-forgotten language--or one I thought I'd forgotten. I could almost lean into the direction it was going to go. Even after abandoning a music major to go the more lucrative English major route, I could, decades later, understand the music. Mozart was still talking to me. It was an amazing gift that Music Guy gave me--and he didn't know the depth of it (until he reads this).

I did have one moment of absolute horror, as I was sitting in the audience and a stray thought came tearing into the mass of cells I call a brain: So, Janet, first time wearing this jacket. Did you by any chance take the tags off it? I tried surreptitiously to wiggle around in a discreet manner and feel for tags. I hope it didn't look like I had some kind of infestation as I checked the likely spots for tags. Fortunately, I was good.

Then, after the concert, Music Guy and I watched Bell, Book & Candle, which I'd seen in play form a few days ago. Let me say this right away: Kim Novak had AMAZING eyebrows in this movie. But despite the eyebrows (which should have have an IMDb entry of their own), this film had an all-star cast and was charming beyond belief. If you're ever looking for a subject I'll quibble with you about, bring up the fact that this is called a comedy. Only in the broadest of literary terms is this a comedy.

But no quibbling, not at this time of night.

It was a wonderful Sunday!

October Outing

2011-10-10T22:03:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I credited a good friend with getting JanetWorld back in business.

That prompted an early morning call.

"GOOD FRIEND?" he yelled. "GOOD FRIEND?"

Okay, I'm sort of exaggerating. It wasn't early--well, it kind of was. 9:30 on a Sunday morning. And he didn't yell, not really. He was teasing me. And he can tease me because he is a good friend. You know.

*clears throat*

I told him I was going to out him in this post, tell the world who is responsible for ~~nagging~~ encouraging me to open up JanetWorld again, and he said: "Janet, I know I can trust you to be discreet" or some such nonsense.

Discreet? Since when was THAT part of the deal?

Okay, here we go, being discreet: he's Music Guy.

Actually, when we first met, years ago, he had a guitar in his hand. He's always been Music Guy. But now Music Guy is part of JanetWorld.

Music Guy is the official ~~nagger~~ encourager for this blog.

Okay, enough about him. Let's talk about me.

Here's what I've been doing: cooking. In an effort to expand my culinary art, I took out the crock pot (which I swear I've never seen before but whatever) and made some deliciousness.

But not before trying to slice off my fingers. It's probably just as well I don't have the Ginzu knives (although as Music Guy very aptly pointed out, if I did have them I could cut some bathroom tiles, resole a shoe, and then slice a tomato paper thin). My decades-old knives don't cut through my fingers any better than they get through a squash. If I had a Ginzu knife, my kitchen floor would be littered with Janet-body parts.

So, in the interest of personal safety, I've decided I'm never cooking anything that requires me to get into a squash. And I'm not buying a Ginzu knife. It's probably best for everyone. Especially me.

By the way, I appreciate the comments and I wish I could respond but for some reason Blogspot is not letting me post on ANY blog in the comments section. I don't understand it. I've been nice (well, pretty nice) (all right, I've been okay) (tolerable) (nobody's sued me) (yet) but it seems to reject me. I'm trying not to take it personally, and please, I don't want you to either.

I hope everybody gets out and tromps through the leaves before the city says they have to vacuum their yards. I'm all for tidy, but honestly, this is fall! It's a lovely, noisy season--the sound of dry leaves skittering through the air and across the ground is wonderful. So quit reading this, post a quick comment saying hello to Music Guy, and go outside and kick some leaves!

Grand Re-Opening!

2011-10-01T20:34:00.001-07:00

A good friend discovered my blog (I suppose having the link at the bottom of every single email I send might have helped him "discover" it). He calls this "JanetWorld" so that's what it shall be.

JanetWorld. I like that.

He also pointed out that despite my best intentions and publicly avowed promise to blog more, the blog has been completely silent.

No more.

JanetWorld is back in business. It's time for a Grand Re-Opening!

*rubs hands together*

So, what shall I talk about first? There is so much on my mind, it's hard to decide.

The writers conference I oversee has just wrapped up, and it went well. The editors were kind and helpful (Brian Farrey, Elizabeth Law, and Jennifer Arena--a triad of wonderful people!) and the headline author, Kurtis Scaletta, was fantastic.

Writers conferences invigorate me and help me focus my often-roving brain and remind me that I am a writer. It's an identity that's, honestly, hard to come to terms with, even after all those books on the shelf with my name on them. A writers conference brings me around again, and reminds me who I am and what I do when I'm not doing the zillion other things I do that suck the identity right out of most of us women. (Maybe guys too, but let's face it--no.)

I learned a lot not just about writing but about me, which is sort of the neglected part of the equation, isn't it? Here's what's on my mind tonight:

* I really do need to trust my instincts.

* I need a huge network of supportive friends. And I have them. I am blessed beyond human thought.

This is deep for the woman who dropped the entire plate of cat food on the floor this morning (and right down the front of her white nightgown too--that ain't ever coming out). And who yesterday called zucchini a root vegetable, and moved Bambi over to the lamb family, and today sort of leaped from Shanghai to South America and didn't take her listeners with her.

I really do have a PhD. I do. It's here somewhere.

Okay, it's been an incredible week.

Thanks, everyone who came to the conference. Thanks, AFL-CIO, for 100 years in North Dakota. Thanks, dearest Lord, for getting me through this week and keeping Your hand clapped over my mouth when I was perilously close to meltdownville.

And thanks to my family and friends who keep me sane and laughing and loved.

Brain Dump

2011-04-01T15:00:00.000-07:00

Today I had the chance to listen to a panel of esteemed writers, and I realized that I heard nothing they said in the first five minutes. Well, I heard it but I couldn't concentrate.

Then it dawned on me why. My brain wasn't ready to hear about writing because it had other Very Important Things to deal with first, like:
*Laundry. Socks, especially, and did I ever empty the dryer?
*Dishes. It's been a busy week and I'm way behind. Evidence is in the sink.
*Car payment. Did I or didn't I?
*Cat litter. I bought some but did I use it already? Do I need to buy more?
*What will I make for dinner?
*Taxes! Uh-oh! Taxes! Terror! Taxes! Taxes! Where are my W-whatevers, and do I have things to deduct or claim?
And so on.

The list was getting longer and longer and bits and pieces of it were falling off the edge. Or the things I was juggling were raining down on me. Choose your image. Whichever it is, I was forgetting things--or worried that I was forgetting things.

So I got out my notebook and began a brain dump. I wrote down all the things that were nagging at me. It went quickly and soon I was able to listen to the speakers and enjoy the rest of the hour.

I know that some of my friends journal. Just the thought of something that organized, that planned, that scheduled makes my brain itch and my soul crawl. I don't journal. I list. Endlessly. In color, preferably, and when something is done, it is blocked out with great panache.

And my life is filled with notes to myself: clever things I could put in a book that I will never remember if I don't write them down...not that I remember where I wrote them down, or if I even ever found a pen.

And once the words are on paper, I can listen to life again, hear the poets talk about creativity and imagination and exploration.

I still won't know about the car payment or the cat litter, but I'll feel much better.

Well, oops

2010-10-03T20:49:00.000-07:00

What happened here? Or, precisely, what DIDN'T happen here?

It's been about 2 months since I've blogged.

It's not like I haven't had something to say. You know me. I *always* have something to say. I've been busy, with a lot of this and that--a heap of this and a pile of that.

So here, in a bloggerly nutshell, it's what I would have said if I'd been more diligent:

* I tried new hair. I will probably go back to old hair. (See? Important stuff here.)

* Books, books, and more books. Some I write, some I order, and some I read.

* I still wear a cat on my head (or my lap) when I write, mainly because I sit when I write, and that's prime cat-on-Janet time.

* The monkey glass still exists for those days when I need my wine in a monkey glass. You know. Everyone has those days. My monkey glass is my treasure.

*The conference has come and gone, and I survived. Look for digital info next year. Yes, we are on Facebook and Twitter, thanks to someone younger and hipper than I. (Hard to believe, I know, but there is such a young woman.)

* I have Great Plans in the works for 2011. Ssssh, though. It's a secret, so it's just between us, okay?

Now, back to typing faster than I can think. It's a skill all writers should develop.

I promise I won't be so non-bloggery any more.

In which I wrangle a turkey....

2010-08-15T13:42:00.001-07:00

I seem to have issues in getting the turkey from the wrapper to the table. Remember? I blogged about the merriment of it all...

Here

and

Here

Today, I decided to pop a turkey in the oven and let it take care of itself because I have edits due on the Book of Great Wonderfulness, aka my next novel.

Let's just stop on the word "pop." That didn't happen. This was the slitheriest turkey I've ever had the pleasure to wrangle. Rinsing it off was a freak show in and of itself.

First I had to do the body cavity invasion that, now let's be honest, is just gross. I got rid of all the surprise packages except for one which would not come out (and let me tell you, you do not know what fun really is until you've tried to pull some unidentifiable body part out of a turkey carcass). I tugged and I twisted and I wrenched and it wouldn't move. I left it in.

Plus I was aided by a cat who thought (well, I might be giving her too much credit on the thinking thing) that since I was in the kitchen, I was undoubtedly trying to find something for her to eat. I've never done that, but I guess hope springs eternal in her little feline mind.

She wrapped herself around my ankles and began to coil in an endless furry loop. I needed to move the turkey from the sink, where the rinsing wasn't going at all well, to the pan, which I'd left on the stove.

Under the best of circumstances, it's a drip-drip-drip across the floor and the turkey's plopped into the pan and shoved in the oven to finish.

These were not the best of circumstances. I turned, the cat didn't, and the next thing I knew, I was horrified to find that I was clutching this wet turkey to my chest!

I'll leave time for everyone to shudder.

Bearing in mind that I'm 95% vegetarian (the spare 5% is for bacon), this is nightmarish. Do you understand how awful this was? I was hugging a wet dead turkey!!!

I suppose it's better than hugging a dry live turkey, but in a perfect world, I wouldn't be hugging ANY turkeys.

I guess you could say that my cooking is close to my heart. Like about an inch away. Literally.

Hey, you! Remember me?

2010-07-14T17:26:00.000-07:00

As you all know, I feel very fortunate to have married Mr. Spaeth and not the other fellows who came in and out of my life. And it's quite okay for me to be snarky about the Boys of Yesteryear, but now the majorest of the Boys of Yesteryear has posted something on HIS blog about the Girls of Yesteryear--and HE DID NOT MENTION ME! Not at all! HEY! YOU! We were engaged! As in going to be married!

We were totally smitten with each other for about a year. But then we were separated by college, where I met Mr. Spaeth, and, as luck would have it, at his college the Boy of Yesteryear met his Ms Future Wife, and that was that.

Things turned out the way they should have in the marriage department. I am perfectly okay with not spending my life with the BoY (cute acronym, isn't it?) and he is, I understand through my nefarious snooping skills, blissfully happy with his wife. That's good.

Still...ahem...WHY AREN'T I IN THE BLOG POST??? HUH???

I am stunned that I was omitted, but I've figured this out. He was so blasted by my breaking up with him that he suffered a dreadful bout of amnesia! (We writers like amnesia plot devices. Also secret babies, but trust me, if there were any babies in this, they were a secret from me, too.)

It works.

And, as we say in fiction circles, that's my story.

Saying something nice

2010-06-22T08:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had the chance to say THANK YOU to two people who had really helped me out. One was a woman who had shaped my life--thanks to her, I found a love of children's and YA books and libraries, all of which made me a reader, a writer, and a librarian. She and her family became my family, and I love her and her family dearly.

The other was a woman who had helped me through my recent surgery. I could have done it myself (well, not the surgery! HA!) but it would have been a frustrating, worrisome process. Thanks to her, it was smooth sailing through paperwork and phone calls. She encouraged me, and I am grateful for her support.

It felt extremely good to say, "Thank you," to these wonderful women. And I hope it made them feel good too.

When I lived in Albuquerque, I had a poster that said something along the lines of: "Not only to love, but to be told that I am loved. The realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave." The poster didn't make it through many moves (it was beautiful though--a true hippie poster) but I still carry it in my heart.

If you can't say something nice

2010-06-14T15:51:00.000-07:00

My mom used to say, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

That's not the reason I haven't posted for a month. Blame a book deadline and a second round of orthoscopy for that.

No, my mom was probably right. In the way of all moms, she usually was.

BUT--here's the deal.

We're talking about ME. I talk. A lot. And if something really cranks my cord, I'll say something to someone. My problem is that I tend not to tell the person who has me upset.

I'm nonconfrontational. Always have been. I'm a pacificist. A vegetarian (for the most part). A nod-and-smiler. If you disagree with me, I might state my case and move on, because I have never found that arguments in a bar or a living room or at work have produced effective change.

Yeah. In other words, I'm a wuss.

But I will talk to someone else about it. My poor friends, they've heard it all. One in particular has been getting emails from me, probably 10 a day, regarding something that has my knickers in a knot. It has nothing to do with her, mind you, except that she's my friend and, as such, is forced to listen to me.

So I try to keep it entertaining. I figure I owe it to her. And I've found that the angrier I am, the more hurt I am, the more frustrated I am, the funnier I am.

Who knew? Yes, out of these negative emotions come the redeeming quality of FUNNY. And she gets into it too, so that our emails are, honestly, going to be in a book of their own one day. She and I together are snort-your-white-zin-out-your-nose funny.

It heals, laughter does. It eases the fact that someone has dug in and injured your soul in a way that is desperately painful. It takes those slights and makes them slight. It forces ignorance and rudeness out into the light and pokes them with a stick.

If you can't say something nice, say something funny.

Go figure, huh, Mom?

Whack-a-mole editing

2010-05-18T20:50:00.000-07:00

I got the manuscript done! Of course, right at the end, the worrywart part of my mind (which is actually a HUGE part of my mind) kicked in, and editing became whack-a-mole. You know what I mean, don't you?

Example: I was in the shower yesterday morning, feeling quite confident and good about the book, when this stray thought popped into this mess of chaos I call my brain: Wouldn't he have known she was a widow from her job application?

See? Simple little thing, right?

Oh, of course it wasn't. For one thing, I was in the shower. No computer in the shower (it's kind of bad for them). And I was in there because I was getting ready for work, and that's an uninterruptable process. So I had to wait until the afternoon to investigate.

So I asked a co-worker, who is a writer herself and understands odd manuscript questions, and she said, Sure. Then, Oh, maybe not.

She thought, and I thought, and together we put together a couple of brain cells, and then she said, That's one of those questions you're not supposed to ask--it's marital status.

Okay. Whew. But it led to another question: Wouldn't he have wondered, though? And Karlene looked up from her cross-stitch and said, Yup.

Now, bear in mind she had no idea what my story was about, but she understands whack-a-mole editing.

My heroine's marital status wasn't the mole: it was HIS knowledge of it. So, I had to whack that mole! And then all sorts of other little associated moles popped up, one in this chapter, one in that chapter, and I spent the evening doing whack-a-mole on that whole character line.

I was way over my word limit so I deleted an entire section, and you know what that meant. I had to play whack-a-mole on every piece of that thread leading up to and following it.

Whack. Whack. Whack.

Finally, I emailed the manuscript.

And then, just as I was falling asleep, guess what popped up. Yup, another mole. This one was: If you deleted that entire thread, then does this other thread have any support?

Well, oops. I'll email my editor and tell her I'm aware that on line edits I'll have to include some of that back in.

It goes like that in whack-a-mole editing. Luckily I have a team of editors to work with me who make me write the best book I am capable of. I can honestly say that by the time we're through, there is very little I'd change.

My book credits should read: By Janet, JoAnne, Rachel, and Margie...and a whole lot of moles.

Reader mail!

2010-05-08T22:03:00.000-07:00

I'm back on my publisher's blog where a reader comment was posted. And it's a really good, humbling one!

Click on over to read it, and leave a comment yourself!

Now, back to writing another book that will be loved by someone--I hope!

(And Happy Mother's Day!)

I'm on Editcafe!

2010-05-03T20:40:00.001-07:00

I'm talking about my Minnesota series on my publisher's blog, Editcafe. Stop by and say hello!

ME! Guest blogging!

2010-04-13T17:00:00.000-07:00

I'm the guest this week at the Heartsong blog. Stop by, leave a comment, win a book! What could be easier??? Well, sitting where you are and watching "As the World Turns" would be easier, but do it anyway!

See you at...
http://heartsong-authors.blogspot.com/

Later this week I share insights into the deep, dark recesses of my mind and how I mine those same recesses to create my characters.

Lessons from the Grocery Cart

2010-04-02T17:20:00.000-07:00

I have been grocery shopping. I went at 5:30 pm.

I can feel your sympathy.

But it wasn't all for naught. Listen, O Grasshopper. Learn my lessons.

Lesson 1: If you go to the grocery store and you haven't brushed your hair or put on make-up and you are wearing a shirt with a peace sign and enough cat hair to create a new kitten, HE will also be shopping. And he will see you--unless you are quick enough to duck behind the display of Froot Loops in time. Note: You will look stalkerish if someone sees you doing that, so dart with care. Oh, try not to knock the display over either.

Lesson 2: If you should happen to be standing in front of the toilet paper, trying to remember if your family loves Charmin and hates Northern, or if it's the other way round, avoid having a conversation with yourself about it because you never know who's right behind you. I barely escaped that last week. I don't *think* he heard me. I actually one time got caught standing in front of the tea and talking to it. Not loudly, mind you. I was simply wondering which ones were black tea, because I don't understand things like green tea and herbal tea, which are not teas at all in my mind--they're brewed lawn clippings. But I turned around and the Most Gorgeous Man I have ever seen was watching me, smiling. Why didn't I strike up a conversation? Well, see Lesson 1.

Lesson 3: No matter how many times you go to the store, no matter how many stores you go to, no matter how many times you have it on a list, no matter how many times you check that list, you will forget the item you came for. I am typing this in very faint light. I might have forgotten light bulbs.

Lesson 4: The shopping crowd at 5:30 pm on a holiday weekend is made of People With Missions. Do not mess with them. Nobody goes to the grocery store at 5:30 any night, especially a holiday weekend night, because they want to see if Dr. Pepper just happens to have a new flavor. No, they're there because they have A Mission. They have no choice. They've been working all day and they're tacking this onto the end of the day. Or they're making dinner and realize they're fresh out of cardamom. Or a tiny little somebody in the family is freaking out because there is NO MILK and how can we possibly eat without MILK?

This last lesson is quite important. I saw it in action this evening. Imagine, if you will....

A middle-aged woman is striding toward the grocery store with her Mission clearly in mind. She is walking so purposely that she looks like the QE II parting the waters. A driver cuts a bit too closely to her, and she says, without moving her eyes or breaking her pace:

"That was a stop sign, you a$$."

He says something to her and she replies, still looking straight ahead and gliding through the parking lot:

"Back at ya."

I wanted to ask for her autograph, I was so impressed, but she sailed into the store, ready to tackle her Mission.

Thus endeth today's lesson. Learn well, Grasshopper.

Daylight Crazy Time

2010-03-14T12:56:00.001-07:00

One of my favorite songs from my youth was "Does Anybody Really Knows What Time It Is?" (by Chicago). And today--the first day of DST--anybody's guess is as good as mine. How many people showed up at church just as the benediction was being pronounced? Arrived an hour late for work? Or, like me, are just off-kilter today?

I suppose that there *are* people in the world who merrily spring forward (I think that's what we were supposed to do) but I'm not one of them. And here's why:

1. I don't spring anywhere. I'm having knee surgery again, though, and hopefully that will aid my springability.
2. I don't know about spring forward/backward and fall forward/backward. First off, I have to decide which we're doing. I can get the spring/fall business just fine, but the forward/backward stuff? Could we a bit more helpful, please? I have fallen forward (see knee surgery above) and I have definitely sprung backwards (hello, little mouse last year!).

Plus I don't do this merrily at all. I'm a bit cranky today because I had to find all the clocks that don't automatically reset themselves, and ignore the ones that do reset themselves, and hope that I haven't forgotten any of them. It's like "Sleeping Beauty" but instead of forgetting a spindle and making the castle sleep for a hundred years, forgetting one clock can make you an hour late for everything.

And if you do the wrong thing with the clock, you can be TWO hours off. For instance, if today at noon I moved the hands backward one hour, I might think it was 11 instead of 1, when actually it's 12, but 12 is now 1.

Oh, the pressure!

Plus I simply don't get why we do this. We don't save *any* daylight. Daylight is daylight, and days come and go despite how you plead for them to slow down or to be brighter or sunnier or whatever.

This just messes up our carefully calibrated Circadian cycles. Today I read an article that says DST contributes to heart attacks when we move the clocks forward...5% increase in the first days of DST!

Someone, please try to convince me that there is some good reason for this. And hurry--I have to change the clock in my car which requires getting out the manual, trying to figure out what it actually means (the manual is, like so many car manuals, apparently written by monkeys), and pushing buttons until the radio is stuck on a grunge station, the heater is on at Vulcan blast level, and the windshield wipers are whipping full tilt. Then I'll give up and call in my teenaged son who will, with a sigh and a 30-second investment of his time, fix it all for me.

You'll have to excuse me if I'm not in the DST fan club.

The thrilling days of yesteryear???

2010-02-21T19:03:00.001-08:00

A long time ago I had boyfriends. That was, of course, before I became Mrs. Spaeth, which ended all that kind of stuff. (There are a lot of benefits to marriage. Not having to deal with any more boyfriends is right at the top of that list.)

The other evening some friends and I were indulging in reminiscing about old boyfriends. Interestingly, we'd all given the heave-ho to guys who'd gone on to great wealth (and, in one case, fame). What this says about us, I don't know, but it's interesting. Well, it was to me.

Anyway.

We had a great time, drinking wine and talking about The Boys We Left Behind. Oh dear ex-boyfriends, wouldn't you like to hear that we miss you? That we made a horrendous error in judgment when we said it was over? That our lives have been sad, sodden messes without you?

Ain't gonna happen.

No, we all said, "Whew! Dodged *that* bullet!"

And then we went on to talk about something that was much more compelling. Thanks to the internet and idle curiosity (rarely a good combination but it has its moments), we'd located the Ex-Bs. So we wondered: Should we contact them? Why? What would we say? A HUGE part of us wanted to say something very mature and adult, you know, along the lines of, "Neener, neener, neener! Look at me now!"

I don't know. I have no interest in beginning a new--what would it be? friendship?--with my ex-fiance. He's got a family. So do I. And luckily they're not the same. (Did I just say that?) (Was it too mean?) (Nah.) He's 180 degrees from me politically and religously, things I take very seriously.

Plus he wasn't the rich guy. (Okay, that was snarky.)

So the question du jour for you, precious reader, is this: Have you ever looked up an old boyfriend online? Did you contact him? And how did it all end?

Inquiring (and snoopy) minds want to know.

Happy Valentine's Day

2010-02-13T20:53:00.001-08:00

I like Valentine's Day a lot. The colors are perfect for the last holiday of winter: cherry red and strawberry pink and bright vanilla white. They're the opposite of the colors that ushered winter in--the fall palette of butterscotch and pumpkin and caramel (okay, I am teeny bit hungry).

This holiday celebrates love, and I like that. It's important. The more that we struggle against people who just can't get along--whether it's war or bullying or a simple argument--the more we need the solid glow of love to keep us on an even keel.

How are you celebrating Valentine's Day? Remember the four kinds of love: Eros, Philia, Storge, and Agape. It's not necessary (though nice, very very nice) to have a snuggle-bunny on February 14th and celebrate Eros. You could call a parent or a sibling or your children, and revel in Storge love. Tell your friends how much they enrich your life in honor of Philia. Perhaps you'll celebrate Agape love, and donate to the Red Cross so that those in Haiti might know a better tomorrow.

It's not a bad idea, you know.

The Beatles said it so well: The love you take is equal to the love you make.

In 2010 I would like to....

2010-01-24T20:26:00.000-08:00

Now that I've bought mustard (see previous two blog entries), I can move on with 2010.

Here's my wishlist for 2010:

*Remodel my house. Each and every room.

*I'm interested in this website: http://tinyurl.com/yzengoy A money fast. I like the idea! I think I'll declare one day a week to do this thing.

*Be efficient in getting the next two books in for my editor.

*Finish editing the mystery that another charming editor would like to see.

*Write two short stories that are in my mind but not on paper.

*Finish writing one of the YA novels that won't leave my brain alone.

*Refresh my feeble memory of French. And read those books (in French) that I bought when I was in Paris.

*Have a humongo garage sale and make a gazillion dollars.

*Lose some weight. (What would a list like this be like without that?)

*Christmas cards. I've tried for years and haven't managed. This year I WILL!

*Be kinder to everyone, including myself.

*Snuggle my cat a lot more and give her turkey every single day. (My cat suggested that.)

I think I can manage that, don't you?

Onward with 2010!

2010-01-14T12:00:00.000-08:00

I am *absolutely* delighted to tell you that I remembered to buy mustard! Of course, I forgot the cat litter, but you can't have everything. Tell that to my cat, who's only marginally okay with that omission on my part. I gave her a can of tuna and she's forgiven me. Sort of. You know how cats are.

Anyway, sure enough, that was all it took, this thing of mustard. $1.07 out of my pocket and we're well on our way into 2010.

I'm tackling the chaos that is my house. Not being able to bend my knee without hissing pain means that everything I'd have to kneel to get is pretty much still there. But necessity is the mother of invention, and I've figured out a way to get down to the floor level and crawl around. I think I look like a short, chubby giraffe when I go through the process to kneel though, so I never do it when anyone is around. The last thing I need is me on YouTube being giraffe-like. And, in keeping with the animal motif, I should also note that I look somewhat like a crab with a leg cramp when I edge my way across the floor. It's lovely. Just stunning.

And I have two more books to write this year! My lovely editor emailed me and I emailed her and she emailed me and I emailed her, and that's how it all works!

I feel like this calls for a veggie burger--WITH MUSTARD!

Happy New Year, or how mustard destroyed 2010

2010-01-08T19:21:00.000-08:00

I usually do a nice plan for the new year but I haven't managed it yet. It's already the second week of the year and my plan hasn't progressed much past: Buy mustard.

Yes, that's it. Buy mustard.

I can't quite seem to remember to buy it, no matter how many times I go to the grocery store. It's hanging out there, the last little undone thing from 2009 that, no matter how I try, I can't quite deal with.

But isn't that the way it always goes? You can come up with the greatest set of goals--be kinder, clean those closets, find that store of patience (which might be at the back of the closets--who knows what's hidden there?), learn a new language, travel, spend less and save more--but the fact is that until you've bought the mustard that's been on the shopping list for months, you'll be stalled.

I do have a vague cloud of thoughts that at some point I will put into a year's plan, but let's face it, until I get that mustard, I'll be stopped.

If it weren't 800 degrees below zero at the moment, I'd go get it now. But I'm cocooned in my mustardless house, and the mustard--and the year's plan--can wait. I'm cozy and warm and sleepy, and tomorrow is soon enough.

Why I should proofread my clothes, or ERAUQS EMIT

2009-12-27T11:33:00.000-08:00

I love clothes that have words on them, possibly because I'm a writer. But I have a terrible history with these clothes.

1. When we went to South Dakota in 1997, it was amazingly hot so I wanted to buy another sleeveless top. Luckily it was right after the Sturgis rally, so there were tshirts of all kinds on sale for practically nothing. I'm not a motorcyclist so I didn't expect to find anything, but lo and behold, there was a lovely burgundy colored sleeveless top with a rose on the front, and it was edged with lace. In my size! For like $2! So I bought it and wore it. And wore it. And wore it. We were in Bismarck, ND, on our way home, and a fellow stopped me in the motel lobby and said something about Sturgis. I was astonished! Was he psychic? No! It turns out that my lovely tshirt had something, well, motorcycle-ish on the back. None of us had noticed it for all that time. As my dh pointed out, considering what some of the other tshirts we saw had on them, we should just consider me lucky on this one.

2. Pajama pants were all the rage when my son was about 10, so I headed off to the local discount store and bought him several pairs with cute pictures of surfboards and popsicles. About 2 weeks later, after my son had worn them to his friends' houses, my dh said to me, "Janet, did you READ those pants?" I won't say here what the words were, but suffice it to say, NOT appropriate for a 10 year old! My son loves that story.

3. My daughter danced in the Nutcracker with an international ballet company and they sold sweatshirts to commemorate the event. I got it, put it on, wore it proudly--Why, yes, my daughter danced with the Moscow Ballet!--until someone said, "Doesn't 'December' have an M in it?" You got it. It was spelled DECEBER. I couldn't wear it after that. And no, they wouldn't reprint or give me my money back. Not everybody appreciates the importance of spelling.

4. I love NYC. I have friends there, and my dh was born there and I have been there many times. So when a certain company came out with a top that celebrated NYC, I bought it. I hadn't worn it, but yesterday was a NYC sort of day in my mind, so I put it on and wore it. At the end of the day, I went in to brush my teeth and saw, in the mirror: ERAUQS EMIT. Yes! ERAUQS EMIT! I was horrified! TIME SQUARE! It is not TIME SQUARE! It's TIMES SQUARE! I cannot wear this thing! It's all over the top: TIME SQUARE. TIME SQUARE. TIME SQUARE. I have emailed the store and asked for my money back.

Sigh. From now on, I'm writing my own clothes.

40 Teal Balloons

2009-12-14T18:06:00.001-08:00

I was at an amazing funeral today for an amazing woman. She was young, just over 40 years old, and taken from us entirely too early due to ovarian cancer.

She isn't the first friend I've lost from ovarian cancer. She is the fourth. The fourth. They were four too many.

Ovarian cancer comes quietly. The teal bracelet on my wrist, which I've worn for 3 years, says: It whispers, so listen. It comes to the body quietly, and too often the symptoms are mistaken for other things. Bloated? Blame it on your diet. Pains in your abdomen? Cramps or indigestion. Fatigue? Well, you're tired. Loss of appetite? Aren't you dieting? Need to pee a lot? How much water or coffee are you drinking?

There isn't a screening test like a mammogram or a Pap smear. The CA-125 test can help but it's not perfect.

Many doctors aren't quick to look into the possibility of ovarian cancer. You need to be a pushy broad.

You have to fight like a girl.

Please, take a few moments and look at http://ovariancancer.org
Learn the complete list of symptoms, and if you have them and you have your ovaries, get to a doctor right away. Be insistent. It's your body, it's your life.

Today at the end of the funeral, the family released 40 teal balloons in Pam's honor. Teal is the color of ovarian cancer awareness.

Please, please, please. Think of those 40 teal balloons, and the grieving family she leaves behind. If you can financially support research, that's wonderful. If not, there are other things you can do.

You can share what you know about ovarian cancer. It might not be you who needs that information--it might be a mother, a friend, a wife, a sister. Be an advocate.

And, of course, you can pray.

Turkey, turkey

2009-11-27T19:56:00.000-08:00

I'll tell you about our Thanksgiving because it's pretty important to realize that it's not the turkey that makes the holiday great. It's the people clustered around the stove with forks.

To put it mildly, we've had better turkeys. Much better. This one was filled with surprise things (a plastic hanger thing wedged inside, a spare pop-up timer inside the cavity, and a huge bag of ooky bits).

Plus the oven either turned itself off or some pan nudged the OFF button on the control panel, and the turkey sat in a cold oven for an hour.

But I noticed that--It should smell like Thanksgiving, and right now it just smells like Thursday--and got things back on track--late, but back on track.

My daughter had to go to work (wrong! wrong! wrong!) so we actually stood right in the kitchen and ate a wonderful dinner.

As I was carving the rest of the turkey after she left, I noticed a piece of paper coming out of the turkey's rear end. *You may supply your own joke here* Yes, there was another bag of ooky bits tucked in there. I took it out, and the turkey just....deflated. Flat, flat, flat.

It's all good, as my daughter is fond of saying. And it is. It is ALL good. We had a nice dinner, made some fun memories, and the kids and I spent a lot of time saying, "I am thankful for you," because that's what matters.

It's not the turkey (luckily!). It's those moments of intense love--and not just knowing that there's love, but saying it.

I used to have a poster in my room that said something like: Not only to love, but to be told that I am loved. The realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave.

I don't have that poster up any more, but I don't need it. The words are etched into my heart, and I so sadly know that they're true.

Thanksgiving may have come and gone, and the turkeys have deflated flatter than a used Macy's parade balloon, but don't wait until next November to turn to someone you love and say, "I am thankful for you."

Hey, it's NOVEMBER!

2009-11-21T17:39:00.001-08:00

Well, guess what sneaked up on me, and tried to creep on past. Yup, my very favorite month of the entire year!

I've been thinking about how such a terrible thing could have happened. I have several ~~outrageous excuses~~ reasonable explanations.

1. I celebrated my birthday for almost an entire week. It's the year before what the card industry humorously calls a "landmark birthday" (i.e., I'll be changing both numbers of my age, like, oh, 19 to 20, or 29 to 30), so when my splendid pals offered me the chance for lotsa fun, I took it. It was great!

2. I had revisions on my last book. I know, I know. You are ever so surprised, aren't you? I had revisions! Well, my darlings, every book has revisions. At least that's what they tell me. *chews fingernails nervously* You don't suppose they'd---LIE to me, do you?

3. There's this NaNoWriMo thing going on that I signed up for. Unless I write like the very wind, there's a very good chance that I won't get to 50,000 words by the end of the month. I also have this thing called a JOB that requires my presence and attention 8 hours every day, and a family that also requires my presence and attention 37 hours a day. I am a bit busy.

4. I had a lot of Halloween candy that had to be eaten. Hey, somebody has to do it, and you know me. I'm a step-up-to-the-plate kind of gal, and although I know the metaphor is baseball, let's face it. Most of us are stepping up to the plate at the table. That's what November is all about!

5. Thanksgiving! I plan to watch tv, write, and eat, not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily all at the same time, although let's face it, I will. I'm all about time management, and the most effective way to proceed through my busy life is to multitask. Thanksgiving is ideal for that.

6. I'm also very busy with counting my blessings. And there are many. Many.

Oct. 31 means----

2009-10-31T10:28:00.000-07:00

This is the last day of October. It's a wildly important day!

Halloween. I am prepared for it. I bought bags and bags of Halloween candy. Now, a logical person might point out that last year I got 4 trick-or-treaters so this might be a bit of overspending on my part, but last year the porch light wasn't working, and--oh, who am I kidding? I need it because it's also the last day before....

NaNoWriMo. How can I write a book without the proper amount of snackiness? Do you really think that this brain works on broccoli and brown rice? I hardly think so. I have to come up with a plot really quickly, in like *consults clock* 11 hours and 25 minutes! Or maybe not. Maybe I have 12 hours and 25 minutes. Who knows? Because tonight is the start of....

Daylight savings time. Or is it daylight saving time? I never know if there's an s in there, just like I never remember if we spring forward or back, or fall forward or back. Back in my springing day, I could spring forward or back, just like I have fallen forwards or back. This has never helped me with DST. What I need to know is simply this: Do I get an extra hour? I do? Good! I need it because after October 31 comes....

November. I love November. My birthday! Thanksgiving! And NaNoWriMo in full swing!

Let's give Oct. 31 a big hug today. It deserves it!

NaNoWriMo preparations

2009-10-25T19:02:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to get ready for NaNoWriMo. It starts in ONE WEEK! And here's what I've done:

*I've figured out which book I'm going to write! This isn't as simple as it might seem. My brain is full of shelves and hooks and tables piled full of ideas. Some are noiser and pushier than others, but that doesn't make them better--necessarily. So I have to look at each one separately, and this is where I get in trouble because I fall in love with them all over again. But one persevered, clamored the most, and was pretty cool, so I chose it.

*I've got the beginning! And the ending! Now I just have to figure out that pesky middle stuff, like who does what when and where and why and how. You know, the details. Okay, not the details. The good old basic plot. This book I chose to write had better get busy in my brain and start laying itself out. Sheesh. Do I have to do EVERYTHING myself?

*These characters need names. I am all over the map on naming my heroine. Nothing seems to quite fit her. I will consult a name book. Hopefully something will leap out of the pages and into my brain. I'm choosing Josh for the guy because I am all about Destination Truth, which is an awesome show on SyFy and I think Josh is smart and funny and cute.

There. Pretty productive weekend, wouldn't you say? Plus I shopped like crazycakes at a couple of BIG HUGE MALLS in Minnesota which was fun but now my entryway is filled with shopping bags I have to unpack and laundry that needs to be done. It's always something, isn't it? And thanks to Harry and David, the best store in the world for snacky food, I'm all set for stuff to eat and type my way through November.

ONWARD!

Of Hamsters and Hoovers and Nanowrimo

2009-10-15T17:23:00.000-07:00

You know those hamster wheels, the ones that the little critters get in and run like crazy and go nowhere?

Cue the metaphor music. Doesn't that kind of seem like LIFE?

But sometimes it's not quite right. Sometimes it *does* go places, and things get accomplished.

My book is done, and the deep copyedits are done. The writers conference I was the head chick for is done, and it went quite well, I think. I'm look ing forward to doing it next year, too.

Things are quite productive at work and I am never bored.

My house looks like monkeys have been living in it, though, and I have to fix that soon. Shouldn't be a problem. I am ROLLING in free time, right?

Here's the deal: Everybody gets exactly the same amount of time in each day. But something happens to mine. Somehow it gets vacuumed up by the big cosmic Hoover and my seconds, minutes, and hours end up in a canister with goldfish crackers, cat hair, and odd dusty things that nobody knows what they are.

(Aside: I really don't understand why, when the massive Hoover is collecting up all my precious time, it can't take a quick tour down the hall and around the couch. Those two places could really use a quick run-over.)

So, finally my life inhales and exhales and all is good. Everything I've been putting off, I can get it done NOW! Soon! YES! Oh, it will be beautiful!

Until my friend Kacie says, ever so sweetly, "Janet, let's do Nanowrimo," and I'm gone.

For those who don't know what Nanowrimo is, let me explain. For one month, you write like crazycakes and get a book done. Now, that's not at all undoable and I know this from--ahem--personal experience. That was a long time ago and I'm a wiser writer now.

Sure.

Anyway, the goal is to do a book in a month and the deal is that EVERYBODY in the world is doing it. And when I say EVERYBODY I am not exaggerating, not even a tiny bit. EVERYBODY.

Or maybe everybody who's ever thought:
1. This book is dog drivel. I can do better.
OR
2. I have the BEST IDEA EVER for a book!
OR
3. I need to be rich. I will write a novel.

I'm adding one more:
4. Kacie told me to.

I just have to come up with a plot. No problem. I have, like, two weeks!
WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG????

Useful suggestions

2009-09-23T14:04:00.000-07:00

I know how much everyone enjoys it when I make suggestions for how to improve things. The universe needs my input, and I have marvelous ideas. So far I've covered ill-fitting sheets, bad drivers, and books in need of copy editors.

Today I'm tackling the very difficult problem of ELECTRICAL CORDS. Before you start emailing, texting, Twittering, or commenting with helpful hints about re-using cardboard tubes from paper towels or toilet paper to stow cords, or how a twist tie can tame an unruly bunch of cords, let me explain.

I mean the cords themselves.

Here it is: Why on earth, in a world filled with technological marvels, does almost every electrical appliance that I might MOVE from one spot or another have to have a cord that comes in two parts? The very act of moving anything that has more than one piece almost guarantees that I will lose at least some part of it.

The Kindle was sidelined for a while until we found the missing bit of its two-piece cord. The missing link was the size of a thick matchbook. It might as well be a microdot when it gets loose in my car or slithers down the side of the couch or vanishes under someone's bed.

The laptop's cord is in two pieces, but I always keep it hooked together--am I committing some kind of electrical crime? If I want to tote it with me, I suppose I might want to separate them, but usually I'm not taking it somewhere. Usually I'm, well, using it!

Why must these cords be in two pieces? Why? Okay, okay, okay. Different electricities or something? I'm not buying it. If there is some real reason (*snort*) for the cord to be in two different pieces, can't they put a strip of plastic connecting the two? Do I have to think of everything?

See how easily I've solved this problem with one little suggestion? I am going to go to the store, get myself a roll of packing tape, and tape these suckers together.

How simple the solution!

Now, off to think about how else I can improve this world we live in.

(You're welcome.)

Hello, September! What do YOU have in store?

2009-09-07T14:44:00.001-07:00

My last post concluded with my list of things I wanted to do. Did I get them all accomplished?

Well, um, gee, let's see...NO!

I did get the book done (although that slid into September, thanks to a bout with some tummy bug). My toes are tipped with a lovely shade of purple. Ice cream and I-love-you's to my kids? Done.

Saturday Market--done (although I realized calling it Saturday Market is a remnant of my Oregon days; here it's called the Farmers Market, although it's more than that). Felt the sun on my shoulders, for a minute or two.

Not long enough for a sunburn. No movies although I'm holding out hope that my schedule will exhale long enough for me to get to one.

I didn't get the house cleaned. No garage sale. No knitting. No tv. No strawberries. No French class. No book in the backyard while guzzling iced tea.

Let's see if I can get any of this done in September! You just never know.

Summertime blues

2009-07-30T22:36:00.000-07:00

Summertime is--well, it's one of those things in life that never seems to quite live up to its hype. It's full of promise but lately it hasn't been coming through at all well.

It seems like summer is when the you-know-what hits the fan, and why wouldn't it be? It's summer! The fans are on!

I haven't blogged in almost 2 months. And here's what's happened:
1. I had surgery that I'm not recovering from the way I'd hoped. I'm giving up.
2. The plumbing in my house--oh, sigh.
3. This is the worst: a woman died. Not just any woman, but one whom I'd known for almost 40 years, one who gave me my husband, one who loved me. My life has a huge hole in it now, with only memories to fill it in.

There's a month left in summer. I'm going to try to redeem those last 31 days. I'm going to go to the Saturday Market. I'm going to feel the sun on my shoulders and get a sunburn. I'm going to sit in the back yard and read a book and drink iced tea. I'm going to see a movie, preferably one with Johnny Depp in it, and I don't care what the reviews are.

I'm going to clean my house, every single room, and then I'm going to have a garage sale. I'm going to knit a scarf. I'm going to watch TV, and I'm going to take my kids out for ice cream, and I'm going to tell them I love them.

I'm going to finish the long-overdue book that I'm writing, and then I'm not going to write for the rest of the month. I'm going to eat a whole thing of strawberries by myself. I'm going to paint my toenails purple. I'm going to sign up for French class.

But here's what I'm NOT going to do: I'm not standing in front of any fan!!!

It's all about me

2009-06-08T12:47:00.000-07:00

I have some secret talents that I am about to un-secret by telling you. Be prepared. You will be impressed.

When I was a kid, my career goal was to be a spy or a PI or something like that. That, of course, requires special skills, and the public school system didn't teach them (busy with math and English and history and such), so I had to teach myself. They are:
*I can read upside down.
*I can write upside down.
*I can write backwards with my left hand.
*I can toss a room and you'd never know I was in there.
*I can breathe so shallowly you'd think I wasn't breathing at all.

Nancy Drew would be so jealous.

Going to Rehab

2009-05-23T20:43:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's the curse of having teenagers, but when I hear "Rehab" I think Amy Winehouse. Here, though, "Rehab" is the place I go for physical therapy for post-op knee stuff. The only thing I'm in withdrawl from is walking.

Had a good experience there last week. I was sitting outside on a bench, waiting for my ride, when a woman wearing a bright lime green outfit, her head topped with a big puff of white hair, laboriously pushed a walker toward me. She sank gratefully onto the bench and pulled out a cigarette. She lit it, took a big draw from it, and said to me, "Pain sucks."

And there you have it.

Clean-up on aisle 4!

2009-05-12T16:05:00.001-07:00

I just finished a mystery by a favorite writer, and once again I laid it aside at the end with a sigh. And it wasn't a happy sigh, either.

You're all heard my rants on this before: Punctuation errors, POV switches that are baffling to track, people changing names, story threads simply abandoned--what is going on?

In this case, the most startling error was a reference early on to a conversation that I couldn't find, even upon backtracking. Ah, but I found it several chapters later.

As soon as I saw the conversation appear later on, I knew what had happened. She had changed her mind about where something should be (and rightly so--it did belong later in the book) but she hadn't caught all the little threads associated with it when she moved it.

I immediately wanted to send all of my editors HUGE baskets of flowers. They catch my strays. I can't imagine something like this would have slipped past them, and I'm increasingly grateful for their help!

Yes, I imagine them out there with my manuscript, a mop, a roll of paper towels, and some 409, doing their own version of clean-up on aisle 4. Thank you!!!

Concert YUM!

2009-05-03T11:48:00.000-07:00

Elton John and Billy Joel. Together. How much better can it get? The concert was absolutely wonderful. The music was incredible!

I have what I call my "die-happy" moments, those when I can click off another thing that I've always wanted to do. Last night was one. Singing "Piano Man" with both Billy Joel and Elton John and a couple thousand other people was one of those moments. They stopped and let us sing it back to them. Wow. Just wow.

Now I have Jackson Browne in my sights for the next guy to see. I do like Jackson Browne!

But I do have a question for those people who do group seating: Why, oh why, must you link together folding chairs (no arm rests--one just hooks to the next one) and expect us to sit there for 3 hours? Bear in mind, I'm no physics chick but I do know how big a folding chair seat is and how big a human bottom is. They're meant to be approximately the same size.

And in most humans, the shoulders are about the same width, perhaps a bit bigger. See the problem developing?

Plus, my friends, those things hanging off our shoulders? ARMS? They add about six inches to the top area. So you've got people who are sitting, literally cheek-to-cheek, and what on earth are they supposed to do with their shoulders and arms?

We're given 14 inches of concert real-estate and a whole row of sixteen people have to somehow each accomodate the extra six inches of arm per person? That's 96 extra inches that have to somehow find a place to stay for three hours. Squish City!

This also happened at a writers conference I went to. The chairs were hooked together like that. I'm sensing a trend that must be stopped. (Along with wild dancing--an issue not at writers conferences but yowza, last night! To the chick in front of us: You fell several times. You sat on people. You hit people with your waving arms. No more beer for you, please. You way exceeded your given 14 inches. That's why those around you left.)

However, I am delighted that I got to see these two legends. I just won't go to the same venue again, unless I can be sure I have literally better seating.

Happy new year--really!

2009-04-19T17:21:00.000-07:00

I think it might be spring. Finally. At last. And may I say, It's about time. Winter has pretty much worn out its welcome.

So now I have Spring Fever. Time to clean. Time to dump stuff. Time to move forward.

And that's what it's all really about, isn't it? Moving forward. I always think of spring as the first season of the year, which is silly since the year is already three months old--three months of hardcore winter--and the fourth is undecided. Well. So be it.

I feel energized--well, that's a bit strong. I'm not energized. I'm ready. That's the word. Ready. Ready for change. Ready to shed old skin and try on something new.

If I were going to make resolutions, I'd do it now rather than on a nightmarishly cold night in the midst of winter. I'd do it while the world is tilting into something new.

I have some writing goals for this next year, and we'll see how that all goes. I also have some house goals (does it EVER end?)

What about you?

Happy new year! Spring is here!

Why I'm not a doctor

2009-03-28T21:13:00.000-07:00

Today I decided to roast a turkey. I'm not a big meat-eater. Actually, if it weren't for bacon I'd probably be a vegetarian.

This wasn't the first time I've roasted a turkey. Over the years I've learned that there are surprise packages inside the turkey. Don't ask me why--and please, don't tell me, either. But there are. There's a mysterious paper or plastic wrapped bundle that I suspect contains something people call gizzards--and they're just as dreadful as their name implies. And there's also an icky bit that I think is a neck. It's huge and ugly and disgusting. I throw them all out.

I'll confess: I roasted a lot of turkeys before I remembered to take these things out. It became a family joke that I'd forget about them.

But not today. The little package is right there, and I throw it away pronto. Then, to get that long ooky thing--well, that requires something that usually only a veterinarian should have to do. Sticking my hand up inside the bird.

It's gross. Really, it is. But that's what you've got to do if you're going to roast a turkey, so I grimace and reach inside.

Or try to. I can't get my hand in there. I push and shove and twist, and no go. Finally I give up and decide to roast the turkey with that nasty piece inside of it.

So one last rinse with water--and what do I see? I've been digging in the wrong end of the turkey!

Color me embarrassed. I retrieve the offending bit, add it to the trash, and pop the bird in the oven.

Later, I take it out. I'm irked that this turkey, which comes from a well-known, top-of-the-line turkey company, doesn't have an "I'm done!" pop-up thing on it.

But worse--it just kind of looks odd. There aren't really legs, and it's an odd dark color. I carve into it, and it's dark meat, and not much at all. It's bones!

I'm starting to get steamed now, and, to tell the truth, sort of freaked. What is this thing?

Well, guess what. I have it upside down in the pan. I'm not carving the breast! I'm carving its, well, you know. Its underpinnings, if you get my drift.

I know that some chefs say this is the best way, and honestly, it turned out wonderfully.

And this explains why I'd make a terrible doctor. I can't tell the neck from the (ahem) bottom, and the breast from the back. Someone would come to me with a sore throat and I'd say....

Flood Poem

2009-03-24T18:58:00.000-07:00

Water should be...

In the river, not in the street.
In the pool, not in your house.
In the sink, not in the basement.
In the bathtub, not on your main floor.

Water, listen to me!

In which I fix something wrong with the world...

2009-03-19T18:33:00.000-07:00

DRASTIC CHANGE NEEDED! IMMEDIATELY!

What's got me cranked up tonight? Well, let me back up to last night.

I have a cat. She's a stunningly beautiful cat and I love her to absolute pieces. But she has a delicate constitution, the poor princess, and last night she had a teeny tiny upset in her teeny tiny tummy and urped a big gigantic nasty thing on my bed, right by my pillow.

Laundry time.

I usually don't undertake changing my sheets late at night, but it was Absolutely Necessary. Oh, I hate changing my sheets. And why?

WHO CAN TELL WHICH WAY THEY GO?

A king-sized bed is not a square, but I'll be dipped if I can figure out which is the shorter side of the sheet, especially when it's crinkled up on the ends with the elastic. I started marking the bottoms of the sheets with a big B--I am big big big on saving myself unneeded grief--but of course, the set last night had no such B, or it washed out or something.

Wrestle, wrestle, wrestle the sheet into place, only to see that I have apparently gotten it wrong as one corner pops off and I have to start again. So I do. This time there's a huge wrinkle across the middle, and the corners are poking up like tiny cloth mountains, and I know, I just KNOW, that as soon as I plop onto the bed, they'll snap free and I'll be back at square one--trying to make my bed, still, as dawn's early light creeps over the horizon because no matter how I try, I cannot get it right.

I was not happy. I was sweaty from all that exertion. And why? I have yet to get a mattress pad and sheets that actually fit a real bed--they're all just a teensy bit too small, so they spring off the second you go to the other side to deal with THOSE corners.

Do sheet manufacturers sit in their offices and chuckle all day long, thinking of this as corporate short-sheeting?

There has to be some better way. I mean really, they're sheets! We're not talking about, oh, a Large Hadron Collider or something that has scads of little parts that can go blooey. If a bailout goes to a sheet manufacturer, I want it tied into a promise that they'll clearly mark the bottom of the sheet and give us that extra inch we need to keep the sheets in place.

(And I know about the bed garters--had some. But the point isn't that I can buy something else to fix the sheets. They should make them right the first time!)

Sigh. Sheets. So complicated!

I love this....

2009-03-02T20:35:00.000-08:00

I absolutely love this. Sound on, please.

Neil Gaiman is brilliant.

Your secret's safe with me

2009-02-24T19:49:00.000-08:00

I love lists. It doesn't have anything to do with a failing memory, really, it doesn't. I just have a lot of stuff going on and if I don't write it down, well, I don't actually forget it--I just don't remember it exactly when I should.

I see my brain as one big CPU. There are times when I'm out of RAM--which is why I could never make it on Jeopardy. Or at least I could never win. I'd be doing those rabbit trails through my mind:

Janet: I'll take What I Had For Dinner for $500, Alex.
Alex: And the answer is: Sunday night!
Janet: Um, um, um, um...
As my mind goes through what it can piece together from Sunday night--> Sick child. Made food on Saturday, he didn't eat it. I saved it but then he got better and he ate it. So no leftovers. Sunday. Did laundry. Washed dishes. Thinking about what dishes I washed in case there's a clue there. Nope. Back to laundry. No help there. Did the Sunday crossword puzzle. Finished it, too. Brushed the cat. Fed the cat. I know what she ate. What did I eat? Boy, my brain is toast. Toast. Made toast. Peanut butter. AH!
Janet: What is: Toasted peanut butter sandwich!
Alex: Oh, I'm sorry. Too late! The buzzer went off five minutes ago, Janet.

My mind is filled with important things like: The phases of cell division are prophase, metaphase, anaphase, and telephase. Saki's real name was H.H. Munro. The members of Cream were Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, and Ginger Baker. I lived at 513 E. Court Street when I was seven.

How can I possibly remember to buy more toothpaste? Dry the towels that are in the washing machine? Order more checks?

If you want to commiserate with me, I'd be glad to hear your tale of woe. Just don't expect me to remember it.

Happy birthday

2009-02-16T21:16:00.000-08:00

Today's a day filled with memories--if he'd lived, he would have been 59 today.

What love can do to your heart....

Happy birthday, babe.

Life's lesson...lost on me

2009-01-22T16:17:00.000-08:00

Life keeps trying to teach me One Big Lesson, and I just don't seem to be able to get it. What, you ask, is it?

Is it: Be kind to animals? No. I'm already way too kind to animals. I won't even use the shredder or the vacuum cleaner unless the cat is far away in the house because their sounds upset her. I get up even before dawn has cracked because Behemoth Cat has already eaten the Fancy Feast from the night before, and dry food, my darlings, just will not do it. I use my laptop at a horrible angle because to use it correctly would infringe on her lapspace. I sleep on the edge of the bed because she prefers the good spot, in the middle where the blanket is full around her.

Is it: Be gentle and sweet and all that good stuff? Oh, right. We're talking about me, remember? I'm already gentle and sweet and all that good stuff. Were you not paying attention?

Is it: Think of others first? Well, no. I'm finally learning NOT to do that all the time. So shoot me. It's about time I found a backbone. I'm only a hundred and eighty gazillion years old.

Okay, here's the lesson:

EVERYTHING WILL ALWAYS TAKE LONGER THAN I EXPECT.

True, true, true.

Driving to work: I always, and I mean ALWAYS, get behind somebody going a nice steady 15 mph, and who cautiously slows down at every green light just in case it plans to turn yellow and then red within the next five minutes. Here's a clue: It will.

Doing laundry/dishes/housework: If I run through it in my brain, all this should be accomplished zippity-quick but it never works out that way. Things have to be sorted and rinsed and stray bits of stuff banished to wastebins and disposals. And there's definitely a good amount of that always engaging game: What Do You Suppose THAT Is?

Paying bills: Here's what slows me down on that. Find the bill. Check the due date. Pass out. Come back up. Try to pay by phone. Learn that's only possible 7 am to 3 pm, Outer Siberian time. I am not in Outer Siberia. Go online. Oh, look at that. Internet is down. Restart router. Whew. Now the site is down. Sigh. Open the checkbook. Out of checks. Get up, find the box of checks. Sit down. Where's that bill? Find the bill. Write the check. Bill has slithered off somewhere. Find it under the chair. Put it with the check. No envelope. Get up, find an envelope. Put the bill in the envelope--uh-oh, where's the check? Ah. On the table by the box of envelopes. Return address label, easy. Stamp? Stamp? Uh-oh. Thirty minutes later I might have paid one bill.

Writing a book. Once upon a time I was an absolute writing dervish. I have even written a book in a single day. And that memory is engraved in my mind. Now, bear in mind that I can't remember most anything else but I do remember that. I wrote a book in a single day! But here's the kicker in that memory: I was a whole lot younger then. I could even, oh, stay up all night! On purpose! (Just as an aside: Getting older speeds up once you hit the mid-50s. Everything that can will sag, wear out, clog up, or wrinkle. And it does it all in one day. You go to bed, looking like you're in your 30s and wake up as your grandma. It's the pits.)

And so this post, which has taken me much longer than I'd anticipated, is over!

Inauguration Day

2009-01-20T13:12:00.000-08:00

So much for the digital highway, which slowed to a digital traffic jam around 11 am Central time. I missed seeing our new President being sworn in and hearing his address--apparently everybody was online at the same time. I don't know if anyone else got to see it online or if the feeds crashed all over the place. I just know that I didn't get to see it. Sniff. The online world let me down!

But I did read his address online (and loved it!), and tonight I'm sure the news will replay his taking the oath.

Tonight, though, I have to be very very good and not get caught up in the splendid balls that will be going on. I'm sure they'll be covered both online and on cable. I am on deadline, and last night the words were flowing wonderfully, so good that I couldn't sleep, but the sensible part of my brain was saying, You need to get up early and sign up for RWA! And then go to work! You must sleep!

Well, I didn't sleep. And although I was online at 8 am to sign up for RWA and the hotel, THAT took until after 9 am, thanks to el crasheroo at their site. I should have figured it was a sign of things to come--or not to come, as the case may be.

But I did get registered, did get a hotel room, Sen. Obama became Pres. Obama, and life went on. And look at me--back online.

Obligatory post about the weather

2009-01-14T13:53:00.001-08:00

I had to chuckle last night when I saw that Yahoo! had two news items spotlighted.

One was a newscast about how deadly the cold was and how horrible it was that people were exposed to it in their jobs. The temperature they were talking about? 20 degrees. ABOVE zero.

The other was about the cold that was sweeping the midwest, and yes, even my community was mentioned for its notable freeziness. Our temperature? 37 degrees. BELOW zero.

20 degrees above zero sounds pretty tropical right about now. That's 57 degrees warmer than we are. And no, nothing closes when it's 37 below. I still have to walk from my car to work. That's about a block. Schools are in session, and some children walk home from school. The mall is open. The grocery store is open. Nothing closes.

I like to say that up here, our blood doesn't flow--it chugs. We're a hardy bunch up here. Or a totally nutso bunch???

Cute, cute, cute

2009-01-10T10:53:00.001-08:00

A couple of days ago I couldn't find anything on late-night tv to watch (imagine that!) and ended up ~~watching~~ listening to one of those entertainment shows where they revisit celebrity news. The only reason I kept the show on was the lure of "cute things falling asleep." Every commercial break was preceded and ended by the promise that they were going to talk about this wonderful website.

Finally they did, but I had to ~~watch~~ listen to a lot of booooooooring stuff first. However, it was so worth it.

I admit it. I'm a sucker for babies or kittens or puppies anyway. And here's a site where you can watch short videos of children and animals conking out.

www.cutethingsfallingasleep.org

Sleepy Baby 10 is by far my favorite.

It's a great site for when you want a quick chuckle.

Tabula Rasa

2009-01-08T21:11:00.000-08:00

Tabula rasa--it's a concept I learned about in philosophy and education, and I really liked it from the moment I first heard of it. We start with a blank slate and experience writes upon it.

Well, theoretically our slates should get fuller as we get older. But you know how it is: some people gets their slates filled faster than others. Some people have a lot of cross-outs on theirs (can't erase on your slate, sorry). Some people seem to have basically empty slates.

The writing on my slate crisscrosses and is edited and re-edited and is marked with lots of doodles. And the ink is probably magenta. I like magenta ink.

Anyway, I've decided I need to learn some more stuff--to get more writing on my slate--so I checked out the offerings in community education.

Oh, WOW!

Knitting! Well, of course I already knit but I am a total inept when it comes to changing skeins. I'd spend my entire life doing one skein projects just to avoid changing skeins. So here's a class in basic knitting. I hope I'll learn how to change skeins. And maybe find a way to do double-pointed needles without looking like a buffoon.

Felting! I love felted things. Here's a class in it. I'll be able to make those cute felted hats and purses!

Plumbing! I know nothing about plumbing but plumbing knows about me. It seems like whenever there's a plumbing emergency, it's at midnight on a holiday weekend. Wouldn't it be nice if I knew how to at least turn the water off? There's a one-night class in the basics of plumbing. The teachers seem to cover it all--in one night. I'm excited!

Pottery! I can't wait to dig my hands in some slimy gooey clay and make a breath-taking pottery masterpiece. I know I have some incredible talent that will be released in this class. Think of all the years I focused on POETRY when it should have been POTTERY. Stupid dyslexia.

So by the time spring rolls around, my tabula will no longer be so rasa. There'll be lots more stuff written on it--in magenta ink, of course.

Caffeinated Janet

2009-01-03T20:25:00.000-08:00

I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have. It was after 3 pm--as a matter of fact, it was 7 pm. But the coffee smelled SO good and the company was SO good and the gossip was SO good, I couldn't help myself: Yes, I'd love a cup!

So far I've done this:
1. Wandered hither and yon on the internet.
2. Put new flannel sheets on the bed--wrestled a pillow into a pillowcase clearly meant for, oh, a pair of socks or something.
3. Looked at some stuff that needs to be sorted through, but sorting through is so, you know, inert.
4. Thought about exercising, but the flannel sheets thing was worth a good two hours of cardio. I mean, honestly, what is with new flannel sheets and those teeny tiny pillowcases? Can they make it any more difficult to put clean sheets on a bed?
5. Looked at the dishes. Ick.
6. Folded up old blankets to take to Hugo's for the Humane Society drop.
7. Cracked myself up because I originally typed Human Society drop. If only....
8. Wondered where my knitting project is. Wondered what my knitting project is.
9. Eyed my book. Could I sit long enough to read?
10. Thought about MY book. It's due in 20-something days. Too caffeinated to think about it.

I give up! I need help. What do YOU do when you're caffeinated?

What I'm giving for Christmas--ADVICE!

2008-12-22T17:10:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm giving advice for Christmas. Here it is, in handy-dandy list form in case you want to print it out and take it with you.

1. If you're a singer and you feel the need to record a Christmas carol, please remember this: Rarely does a well-known melody benefit from being slowed down (I just heard "Sleigh Ride" sung so slowly it was almost a lullaby--I'm sure the horses pulling that sleigh are sound asleep) or with variations on the rhythms that make the song just silly ("Jinnnnnnngle bells, jinnnnnnnnngle bells, jinnnnnnnngle allllll the way-ay-ay-ay"). If in doubt, ask me. I'll tell you.

2. If you really feel you're smarter than anybody else, keep it to yourself. I've had another encounter with Miss Snip, who's once again been dismissively rude to me. Honey, all God's children are equal! I'll just attribute it to the fact that you're half as old as I am--and half as nice. This time of year, we all ought to have on our Christmas spirit as if it were a sequin-sparkled sweater, right out there where everyone can see it. After Christmas, put the sweater away and keep the spirit out.

3. Think before you speak. Think before you email. Think before you act. Hey, in general, just think! That's actually going back on my own resolution list for the New Year.

4. Shop early. Mail early. Thus says the woman who spent over $60 to send one package out.

5. Write stuff down. This is good if you have a memory as flaky as a fresh-baked croissant (like moi) or if you're a writer (like moi). Those books don't write themselves.

6. Keep your promises. I mean, seriously. Do it. That includes anything from saying I'll be there at 5:00--and showing up at 5:00, not 5:15 (Note to self: Put on resolution list!) to signing book contracts with deadlines (Ditto on the resolution list thing).

7. Compliments should come faster than criticisms.

8. Love your family, your friends, your pets. They are your treasure, your chance at heaven on earth.

9. Laughter and a smile--every day.

10. Say your prayers.

Have a merry Christmas!

Baby, it's COLD outside!

2008-12-16T19:31:00.000-08:00

I was in Massachusetts this weekend, and everywhere I went, people asked about the weather here. Apparently there was a little matter of a blizzard, and talk of temperatures that bottomed out at 27 below zero, without factoring in the wind chill. I suppose when it's 27 below as the absolute temperature, well, you're already cold.

I've given in and dug out some mittens. I'm like a little kid--I hate mittens and hats and shoes and mufflers and take them off as soon as I can--but there are times when even I have to give in to the weather. Fortunately I got a new scarf in Paris that's keeping me warm. And mittens that make me smile every time I put them on. When I bought them, the sales clerk told me that an old woman in Wisconsin knitted each pair by hand. Got them home, read the tag inside, and gee, you never know what you'll learn by reading the tag in your mittens. I didn't know there was a Nepal, Wisconsin!

But that's what the tag says: Made in Nepal.

Stay warm! And keep your mittens on.

Ah, Paris!

2008-11-18T19:32:00.000-08:00

I have a wonderful excuse for not posting recently--I went to Paris! My good friend Lila and I went, and we stayed in a friend's flat in the Rive Gauche (Left Bank), only a block from the famous Cafe Les Deux Magots. I never realized how much I would love Paris. Actually, PARIS and LOVE are linked--and I think I know why.

The people were incredible. They were kind and lovely and gracious. I felt like my French with the flat midwestern accent must be painful to them, but they were helpful and encouraged me to try more.

And that's the first reason Paris and Love go together. Love is encouraging.

People walk together there. Mothers and daughters walk with arms looped. Young schoolchildren hold hands. Adults kiss--a kiss on each cheek upon meeting, perhaps, or the lingering kiss of lovers that never exceeds the bonds of good taste. Love is accepting, Love is near, Love reaches out and touches. Love isn't timid.

We noticed older couples strolling, arm in arm, and Lila pointed out that they listen to each other. Their eyes meet and hold during a conversation. It is truly give and take. Love listens.

The parents we saw with their children were wonderful. Their laughter, their delight in their children, was clear. We viewed parents who truly treasured their children. Love is respectful.

Our last night in Paris, we had just settled in at a favorite restaurant--on a very busy Saturday night--when we realized we'd forgotten to bring money (details, details) so we popped up to go back to the flat and get it. The waiter stopped us and asked us if we were coming back. I said I didn't know and he said.... (Get ready to drool, this is GOOD!)

You will return. If not tonight, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then next week. If not next week, then next month, but you will return.

That said it all. I will be back.
Love returns.

I voted!

2008-10-28T19:38:00.000-07:00

I didn't put this on my list below, but I should have, since as much as I love to make lists, I love crossing things out on them even more.

Add this, please:

8. Vote.

Now, look at it:

~~8. Vote.~~

YEA! I voted early. My chickadee voted in her first presidential election, right next to me. How cool is that?'

And also very cool is this: As we left, I noticed that most of the people in line were new voters, young and caring. I wanted to go up to each and every one of them and say, Welcome! This is one of the things about being a grown-up that carries a great deal of responsibility--and which will always make you feel good. You have a place in the US, and it starts right here, at the ballot box. Choose wisely. I am so glad to see that you care. It's a beautiful fall day, and yet you opted to come inside and vote. The future is in your hands--and it starts today.

I love this.

To-do list

2008-10-26T20:33:00.000-07:00

This is one of those weeks when I have a gazillion things to do, and for some reason, there are no extra hours in the day, and no extra days in the week! How fair is that? Pfffft.

I love lists. Allow me to make one. This is: TO DO THIS WEEK.

1. Finish going through the stuff that's been tucked aside for lo these many years. Take to Goodwill or the library or the garbage can as needed. I actually do enjoy doing this--but I'm always interrupted just as I get some momentum going. We have a joke in my family, that every time I go into the basement the phone (which is upstairs) will ring--and I never get there in time.

2. Once I have all these lovely open spaces, they'll probably need to be cleaned. I like that part.

3. Laundry Mountain needs to become Laundry Hill, or preferably Laundry Plains.

4. I really need new shoes. It snowed last night and my sandals aren't...well, they just aren't. Oh, my toes hate being encased in shoes. I need to get some comfy and snappy-looking shoes.

5. I HAVE TO REVISE MY BOOK! I really love revisions, I do, I do, I do. I'm looking forward to a revisionfest. I'm not the kind who can spread it out over a couple of weeks. I have to sit down and do it.

6. Oh yeah, there's my job. Lots and lots and lots to do there, too.

7. Tell my kids again and again how much I love them.

Okay, time to get going! How's YOUR week shaping up?

Streets paved with gold

2008-10-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

In typical Northern fashion, we've plunged headfirst into fall and don't we look nice. Today I was driving down a small residential street, and the trees arched overhead to form a canopy--a canopy of gold leaves that cascaded down on my car. The streets and lawns were covered with this gold, and as I looked at our Creator's majesty, I couldn't help but think: Wow, this looks just like the Windows wallpaper!

Yes, folks, this is why I'm a writer. Honestly. Sometimes I embarrass myself.

Anyway, it was raining and, for once, I was glad of it. People weren't out with their noisy lawn machines (blowers, mowers, and mulchers--it's amazing how much gas we'll use to control nature), sucking up every bit of this beautiful scene. Just for a while, it was nice to see the streets paved with gold--on earth, thankyouverymuch. And the only sound? The sound of wet leaves hitting the car. Lovely.

My son and I had a Book Binge this weekend. We love Book Binge weekends. We go to the bookstore and buy and buy and buy, and he stays up all night reading. I try but I poop out way too early.

And today being Sunday, you know what I did (besides laundry!)--Mystery Weekend on the Hallmark Channel, where I watched a Perry Mason movie that didn't have Raymond Burr in it--in fact, even Perry Mason wasn't in it. Apparently it was made after Burr died. Well, my darlings, I do believe that if you're going to call it a Perry Mason movie, then he ought to make an appearance in it.

Have a good week, all!

Things I'm thinking about

2008-10-02T14:46:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking. Okay, I know. That's a dangerous black hole sometimes, but bear with me. It'll be fascinating. I promise.

Here's what I've been thinking about:

1. Motivation. I came up with the COOLEST motivation ever and I love-love-love it but I don't which of two books I'll use it in. Ooh, it's good.

2. Wall Street. I don't know what just happened but somehow I lost at a game I didn't even know I was playing. I hope I had fun.

3. Clothing. Why do I keep buying the same thing over and over? I've been on a jacket/blazer bender for about a year and a half now. Enough. If you go shopping with me, just slap my hands away from anything that looks jackety. Point me to the skirts and pants. I won't be happy, but I'll go.

4. Weather.We're playing hide-and-go-seek with the last days of summer as they make their exit from this year. Okay, fine. However, this means a 30-40 degree change in one day. I'll be comfy in the morning (see Clothing, above) but by the afternoon I'm sweaty and grouchy.

5. Temperament. I've been snappish lately. A lot has really cranked me, and apparently my patience is truly limited. No, it's not you. And to be honest, it's not me either. It's that big cosmic dump truck again. But it'll go away. It always does.

6. Mechanical ability. Seriously. I fixed my dryer. Victory dance!

7. The Desiderata. I revisited this beautiful piece of writing earlier in the week, and it calmed me right down. If you haven't read it recently, take a look at it. (Yes, you can Google it.) You'll feel MUCH better after a gentle reading of it.

Of course this isn't everything I've been thinking about. I've graciously omitted discussing laundry, the election, and the fact that my lawn has been officially declared Tall Grass Prairie and is thus protected by law.

Have a good rest of the week!

I need a nap...Or maybe 10 naps

2008-09-24T13:46:00.001-07:00

I still haven't caught up on my sleep from the conference. Not only did I have my usual This isn't my bed! I can't sleep here! And where's my cat? I can't sleep without my cat on my legs! sleepless nights, I drove to and from the conference and that's always wearing--and more so the older I get. (Did I just say that? THE OLDER I GET? Huh.)

But it was a good conference, and it was great to see familiar faces. I would LOVE to say I came back invigorated--but see the paragraph above. I came back too pooped to pop, as my mom used to say.

I'll blog more when I'm feeling more coherent. I've been home 3 nights and each night I've fallen asleep so quickly the cat's barely got herself settled before I'm off to dreamland, snoring happily, glad to be home with family (feline member included).

"Where shall I go? What shall I do?"

2008-09-12T14:15:00.002-07:00

(OK--I edited the header so it makes sense. Apparently the path from my brain to my fingers as I type is encountering traffic snarl-ups--road construction, no doubt.)

I'll be in the Twin Cities soon, and that means the Mall of America, my home away from home!

For those of you who aren't familiar with my beloved MOA, I thought I'd highlight some of the best features you'll find there, at least in my mind.

NORDSTROMS: If you like shoes, Nordstorms is THE place. That may not be much of a secret, but here's something that might be: stop in at the cafe if you get a chance, and have their iced tea. It's the best iced tea I've ever had in my life, and the food is excellent, too. I never pass up a chance to glug down a glass of iced tea there. And I get one to go, too!

SEPHORA: If you're a make-up/perfume fan, Sephora is the place to be. Tip: Get a Beauty Insider Card while you're there. Then, when you're back home, in Sephora withdrawal, you can go to their website and order--and if you're an Insider with enough points, you'll get extra free stuff!

YANKEE CANDLE: Sniff until your sniffer can't sniff any more! Wow, this place smells great.

DEPT. 56: What a fun store! From expensive to very affordable, there's something for you.

THE AFTERNOON: Sigh. I love this store.

BASIN: I'm weak when it comes to Basin stuff. It smells heavenly. Tip: Purchase a small bag of cut up soap. It's perfect for putting beside the sink in the bathroom because you'll use it before it dries out, and the scent isn't overpowering.

For food:
*CINNABON: Forget the diet, for at least a while. A Cinnabon cinnamon roll is extraordinary.
*LINDT CHOCOLATE: Every time I've been in there, they've had deals if you buy a lot. Haha. Like there's a chance I won't?
*RYBICKI CHEESE: I went in for the first time on my last trip and lost my heart to this place. This store has the most interesting flavored cheeses! We bought a couple of the more intriguing flavors and were going to try them when we got home, but we forgot to put them in the fridge right away, and there was a dog, and well....
*HARRY & DAVID: Oh, Harry and David, whoever you are, I love you.
*CARIBOU and STARBUCKS: I don't know about you, but I do need coffee. I also like GLORIA JEANS.
*GODIVA: The name says it all.
*TEAVANA: If you're a tea person, stop here. Sample. Buy!

This is just a beginning list. I also like Williams Sonoma. Itz-a-Puzzle. Coldwater Creek. Body Shop. It's a big big mall with something for everyone.

See you at BARNES & NOBLE, Saturday afternoon! Fantastic store, fantastic event!!!
(Did you recognize the quote in my title of this post? Of course you did!)

The Goldenrod is Yellow....

2008-09-09T14:20:00.001-07:00

When I was a kid, we sang a song that has partially stayed with me all these years: "The goldenrod is yellow, the corn is turning brown...." Google, bless its little search engine heart, found the source for me, "September" by Helen Hunt Jackson (of Ramona fame, I believe).

It's a cool poem--goes on much longer than I'm sure we learned. And the ending:
One day of one September
I never can forget.
So what happened on that one day? She doesn't say. It's kind of an early "Ode to Billy Joe" thing, I guess.

I don't have anything more than this to talk about. Just find the poem and read it. Let September wash over you. It's a great month to make memories, whether you're doing something momentous or just simply walking to the mailbox on a golden afternoon.

One day of one September
I never can forget.

The last summer Saturday

2008-08-30T15:09:00.001-07:00

Sigh. This is it. Labor Day weekend traditionally ends summer, but up here in the north, at least, we want to squeeeeeeeze every bit of summery warmth out of these days that we can.

School's back in session. The calendar page turns Sunday night. Labor Day is near. But it's too early to write off summer.

Tell that to the retailers, who have had autumn doo-dads on the shelf since June. Who no longer carry sandals, unless you're a woman who wears a size 5...or a size 11.5.

And I've got to ask--what's the deal with the Halloween candy being out already? HUH? My husband once teased me about having bought Halloween M&Ms in August, and I retorted, "Well, at least I know they're fresh."

"Either that," he said, "or really really old."

Have a great weekend!

Summer Saturdays

2008-08-16T12:54:00.000-07:00

What an incredibly busy summer this has been. I wish I had something to show for it other than massive credit card debt. I've been travelling--to San Francisco and the Twin Cities. Now I'm home for a while, and although it's late in the season, I've discovered perfection. It resides in two words:

SUMMER SATURDAYS

Isn't that just yummy? It's got a nice, peaceful energy. On a summer Saturday, you can be outside, riding your bike or taking a walk or swimming or just lolling in the sun with a good mystery or romance novel. Or you can be inside, taking a nap or reading a book....even house-cleaning has an extra shine on a summer Saturday.

I'm off to have some iced tea and read that new mystery novel I just bought. Inside? Outside? Who cares? This is a summer Saturday!

Sicko

2008-07-26T21:11:00.000-07:00

Why is it, just when I can't spare any more minutes in my day, my body decides to blow up? I'm on the home stretch with the book, going along great guns, knowing something's missing but I'll catch it on my rewrite. I'm good, I'm good, I'm good....

And then I'm not. I'm sick, I'm sick, I'm sick. I had some horrendous bug this past week that took me out for almost the entire week. I don't remember ever being so sick. I must have had some wild fever because I kept going in and out of reality.

Nothing got done with the book. I couldn't even have told you what the book was about. Assuming I could have uncurled my fingers from their claw-like position (did I tell you I was sick?) to type, it wouldn't have made any sense.

But here's the cool thing. As I was laying/lying (I can never keep those straight) in bed, feeling like a old bowl of Alpo, I got an idea of how to fix the story. Actually three ideas. One was probably the thing that, if I can pull it off, will make this story elevate, and the other two are thread fixes.

Most of you who read this know about the horrendous turn my life took two years ago. It was as if a great door slammed, and there I was, in a new room. An unfurnished new room.

I've been writing for years and years, and I'd managed to create a system that works for me. I use threads. It's very visual for me, the concept of these threads that run through each book--eh, I can't explain it easily here. It requires "twenty-seven eight by ten color glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used...." (source given below--anyone recognize it without peeking?). Anyway, this is the first book I've written since the Great Slam and I hadn't set up my threads in my graphic synopsis (I totally forgot them) and sure enough, my threads had tangled into knots and some were broken.

Janet, is there a chance this train of thought might pull into the station any time soon?

What I'm saying, in my very roundabout, still kind-of-sicky way is that sometimes the part of my brain that runs under everything, the part that keeps my heart beating and my lungs breathing, remembers life before the Great Slam and reminds me about the threads even if my upper brain can't.

Kind of cool, huh? So now I'm back to working on this book again, still a little slowly, but I've got the threads untangled and we are GOOD TO GO!

(Pssst: "Alice's Restaurant" by Arlo Guthrie)

Lolling around

2008-07-19T12:28:00.000-07:00

Remember that song by Chicago? Does anybody really know what time it is? Well, apparently I don't. Today I thought I had a whole extra hour and I didn't, which resulted in me lolling around for sixty minutes that I really couldn't spare...but I do love to loll around. Lolling is way under-rated.

Unless I'm on deadline. I have to wait to loll until Aug. 2. Then I can loll for a little while before the next deadline comes clickety-clacketing at me with its little hooves.

Let's talk about lolling. First off, it's a lovely word. Lolling. See how it just lingers on the tongue? Lolling. Lolling. Lolling.

It's a whole lot better than saying, Procrastinating. Avoiding. Delaying. I always get this way when I'm on deadline. I suddenly want to clean my house. Really. Talk about weird, huh?

I love writing. I do. It brings me to life. So why is it so hard to do?

I was talking to my kids about transitioning yesterday. It's a phrase that's used to explain why, when your children are little, they cry when you drop them off at day care, they cry when you pick them up, they cry when they get home. It means that the transition from one environment to another is rough.

I was using this to explain why, when I get home from work, I need to smoothly and gently transition into being mom, and to please give me a few minutes before asking what's for dinner, can the son go to a movie and the daughter to the mall, does he have a clean shirt and where are her new jeans, etc.

And so I need to transition from my 21st century home, with a washing machine (running), a dishwasher (needs to be emptied), and a computer (in lap), to the 19th century, to rural Minnesota. I know my hero and my heroine need me--but my 21st century phone keeps ringing, my 21st century cat keeps trying to push the 21st century laptop off my lap, and my 21st century children think they should be fed.

ARGH! The pain of transitioning!

Tomorrow I'll loll for a little while, but it'll all benefit my writing. It's Crime Time Sunday on the Hallmark Channel. There's a Perry Mason movie (I love the theme song, and Raymond Burr's voice, and the generally unresolved tension between him and Della Street....well, my dears!), a Matlock movie (he's a great character to study--lots of understated dimension), and McBride (the device of replaying a scene with him in it as a shadowy observer is brilliant), plus a couple of my favorite detective and yours, in "Murder, She Wrote." Then it's back to writing.

And that's what I'm about to do now. 19th century Minnesota, here I come!

What if?

2008-07-12T20:35:00.000-07:00

I just read about another child who's a musical prodigy. In this case, she's a pianist.

Here's what amazes me: what if nobody had ever placed this child's fingers on piano keys? Think about it. WHAT IF???

Is finding our talent a matter of chance? As a mother, I'm terrified at this thought. I look at my children and think, Could she have been a tuba virtuoso? Or Might he have been a zither whiz? My kids had the usual chance to try the elementary school selection of instruments (which oddly neglects the piano and the guitar, statistically the most commonly played instruments in the U.S.) but I've never tried piano lessons. Never gave them a banjo. And, yes, please, forgive me, but I've never put drumsticks in their hands.

Mother panic setting in. What if, what if, what if....

How many prodigies are undiscovered because they weren't connected early on? Because nobody put their hands on the ivories and let the magic be revealed?

I've vowed to watch my chickadees with more attentiveness. I'll catch every nuance of their interests. And, just to be sure, I'll put their hands on a keyboard and see if they happily pound out "Heart and Soul" or "Chopsticks"--or if they produce "Minuet in G."

Because you just never know....

Wake up!

2008-07-05T21:26:00.000-07:00

Do you ever need a wake-up call? I don't mean a hotel wake-up call...although, now that I think about it, that'd be good. If I was getting a hotel wake-up call, I'd be in a hotel, which would mean I was on vacation, which would be lovely. I do like vacations.

I mean a wake-up call that rouses you from a sleepy torpor in life. Every once in a while, don't you just emotionally give yourself a dust-off and clean out that garage, or get that proposal done, or finally match up that basket of socks? You know what I mean. Stuff that's easy to let slide. I'm a go-with-the-flow gal, and it's much too comfortable on my duff.

Soooo, this weekend I haven't exactly been a whirlwind, but I've been managing my to-do list, making some of the to-do into got-done. What a relief to cross those naggy little bits off.

I am on deadline, and tomorrow I'm putting some muscle behind the words. It's going to be hard, hard, hard--it IS Crime Time Sunday on the Hallmark Channel and I do love it. But somehow I'll manage both.

I'll just have to set my alarm.

Connecting the dots

2008-06-25T05:59:00.000-07:00

Remember that children's game of connect the dots? How many times did you, as an adult, look at the unconnected dots and immediately see the picture? And how many times did you see only a bunch of dots on the page?

I've been thinking a lot about connect the dots. It seems to be appropriate in my life right now. What I might usually call "coincidences" are actually dots that are connecting--the random is becoming, well, unrandomized.

Right now there are huge huge huge spaces between the dots, and I have to confess that I've drawn in some of the dots myself. I think I'm writing my own story, naturally with me as the main character, and I'm trying to squish in a happily-ever-after.

As a writer, and especially a romance writer, I'm a bit obsessed with happily-ever-after. It's the goal of our lifetimes, whether you read it in a religious sense (after all, the greatest happily-ever-after is heaven!) or in a temporal sense.

Which leads me back to my dots. I'm watching them connect and I'm amazed. But the time has come for me to ask myself: do I dare pick up the Great Cosmic Pencil (no eraser on that baby!) and start connecting some myself?

Our 19th Amendment POWER!

2008-06-10T18:36:00.000-07:00

Today was a proud day for me. My daughter voted! It's her first time and she was a bit confused by some of it but she did great and I'm so proud of her. It's a regional election (city/county) but every bit as important as the "big" November election.

It still stuns me when I realize that women were given the right to vote when my grandmother was a young woman. I wish I'd thought to ask her what she thought of the amendment being passed.

So here we are, almost 88 years later (the amendment was ratified Aug. 18, 1920), and I'm trying to pass on to my daughter, and my son when he turns 18, the heavy privilege that voting is. If we don't vote, we silence ourselves.

House on auto-destruct

2008-06-07T14:44:00.000-07:00

Doesn't it seem like sometimes your house goes on auto-destruct? Mine has. Everything is falling apart, falling off, or just falling! Of course this is happening as I'm embarking on a Cleanathon. The more observant of you may notice that I claimed to have started it in May, which is true, but Life intervened and I got sidetracked. (Me? Sidetracked? How can it be???)

Right now my house is in the State of Chaos (somewhere between Minnesota and Wyoming) because projects started have been abandoned to deal with plumbing emergencies (2), computer disorders (2), light bulb catastrophes (1), and so on. And yes, there truly was a light bulb catastrophe. I fixed it and didn't get electrocuted, which puts me on some list of technological marvels, I'm sure.

And all this as I'm trying, trying, trying to get my contracted book written! Plus I have a proposal to finish this weekend.

Is there any hope?

I'd get right to work but I'm going out to hear a friend play some music and then to a movie. First things first, right?

SUNDAY UPDATE: Cleanathon was postponed, due to an afternoon of fruitless shopping for a filter for the furnace/AC. Yes, the filter we have--well, it broke. And apparently it's an odd little thing that we and only we have. Sigh....

Spring cleaning bits and pieces

2008-05-21T11:24:00.001-07:00

Yes, I'm spring cleaning and yes, it's May, but here spring seems to be a flighty little thing. The tulips are up but the flowering crab, usually in full bloom by Mother's Day, is still leafing.

Actually I'm doing more avoiding cleaning than I am cleaning. Life has so many more interesting things in it than I'm finding under my child's bed. (Really. I am serious. Although I am finding some very strange stuff.) And it would have helped if I hadn't had those extra two cups of coffee this morning. I'm bouncing around like a highly caffeinated Tigger.

I have a confession to make. New flipflops. Pink. HEY! I had no choice! They're Borns and they were $15. You would have, too. You know you would have.

Good news yesterday: my very first novella is being repackaged! YEA!

Time to continue the excavation under the bed, and then onto the Basket of the Unknowns next to my chair.

Ah, SPRING!

Flippity-flopping

2008-05-12T14:39:00.001-07:00

Kacie, observant fashion-chick that she is, noted how much I like flipflops. I was forced to go out and buy new ones this year for three reasons:

1. I couldn't find my old ones. Well, I found one of each pair. But not only do they not match, they're both for the same foot.

2. Some ghostly presence has stolen my socks, so when I'm wearing black slacks, I can't really wear my regular shoes without looking totally geekish--a nice band of winter-pale ankle over a black shoe looks horrid.

3. I went shopping with my daughter.

This third reason is perfectly clear to anyone who has a teenaged daughter. If I shop by myself, I can talk myself out of anything (except malted milk balls). With the Shopping Princess, things are a bit different.

Now I have two pairs of black flipflops (one with wild flowers over the toes, one sedately plain), one white pair with blue starfish, one beige pair, and one brown pair.

YES! I bought FIVE pairs of flipflops! At one time!

I should feel bad. Very bad. Instead I feel good. Very good.

I love flipflops!

That is one soxy ghost!

2008-05-07T22:03:00.000-07:00

This is ridiculous. Now a new bag of socks that I bought for my son has vanished, too.

Maybe my house is haunted by a ghost with cold feet.

Hmmmm....Up here? Cold? Pfffft. We're above freezing, which is, in my northern estimation, tropical.

Well, soxy ghost or not, my week is going much better. I do believe the dump truck has left.

UPDATE: May 10
Apparently my soxy ghost is also a meteorologist. IT SNOWED THIS MORNING!

The dump truck week

2008-04-29T20:13:00.000-07:00

This week (and yes, I know it's only Tuesday, which doesn't bode at all well for Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, or Saturday) has been a complete mess. Nothing is going right, and everything seems to be going wrong!

Now, usually I'm Little Janet Sunshine. I really love life and laughter comes naturally to me. But not this week.

A lot of it I'm to blame for. I'm not perfect. But it seems like a whole lot of stuff the world had been saving up finally landed on me this week, like some cosmic dump truck has backed up to my door, raised its box, and deposited its payload. My credit card payment got lost. One of my kids has been sick. I can't find the sack of socks I bought--12 pairs of them!

It goes on and on, some things petty, some things life-changing.

And to top it all off, they moved BOSTON LEGAL to Wednesday night. Why? What was wrong with Tuesday? It didn't have a W in it?

A friend and I have standing Wednesday night plans. Church and then dinner and talktalktalk. But now it'll have to be church and dinner and talkwithourmouthsfull because we're both BL fans and have to be home by 9:00.

Sigh.

Maybe by 10:00 tomorrow night I'll be more cheerful, having spent an hour watching James Spader. It always does improve my spirits....

Memorable moments

2008-04-23T19:45:00.000-07:00

I had a wonderful trip to visit my friends in The Big City and to shop at The Big Stores, and I'm home now, totally broke, but totally happy.

There were some memorable moments in this trip.

There was the woman at Nordstrom's who "somehow" knew about the loss in our lives. I have never come so close to sobbing in my favorite store. But it was a moment of kindness, and I appreciated her openness.

There was the cab driver who took us from the mall. As soft jazz played on the cab's radio, he told us of the war in Somalia and the family he had to leave there. It was a moment of gentleness and sadness, and I appreciated my fortune of living where I do.

There was my friend and her family. Wow, do I love that whole family. A moment? Many moments. And I appreciate their friendship more than they can ever know. I can't imagine trying to function without her and her family.

And every time I go to The Big City and The Big Stores, and I hang out with this family I love so much, I think, You know, I am so happy here. I should move here. But then I get home, to my own house and my own cat and my own stuff, and I realize, There is no way I can ever move, not in this lifetime, and definitely not without a backhoe.

It's good to be home, but I had a great time! THANKS!

Spring Cleaning & Snow Food

2008-04-11T12:52:00.000-07:00

You know, spring cleaning is a whole lot easier when it's actually, gee, SPRING outside. We missed the storm I bought all the food for last week--and, as testimony to how much self-control I have, most of the snackies are still in the kitchen.

Snow food is snow food, that's why.

But this morning I woke up to way-familiar winds, and way-familiar white stuff blowing around, and although the weather is straightening out, it's truly affected my spring cleaning. My motivation is low, and the chocolate-covered peanuts are gone.

DO YOU SEE THE PROBLEM?

How can I spring clean and eat snow food at the same time? That's just wrong.

So I've cranked up Sirius radio on the computer and I'm listening to Classic Vinyl and that always gets me up and moving.

Spring cleaning. And snow food.

April in the North Country!

WHAAAT?

2008-04-05T11:43:00.000-07:00

I can't believe what I just saw when I opened my email.

SEVERE WEATHER ALERT

So I checked, and yes, we have a severe weather alert.

Is it for Great Spring Weather Ahead? No.

Is it for Gentle April Showers to Melt the Last Icky Bits of Dirty Snow? No.

Is it for Flowers and Green Things Bursting Out? No.

It's for...it's for...it's for
A WINTER STORM WATCH!!!

So today, I'll be doing what I did not want to do, not all in one afternoon. Gotta go to the grocery store, because we're running low on milk, cat food, and snackies. Run to Target, since the end of the school year means that the school supplies have been depleted (it's kind of like that hot dog/bun thing--school supplies last almost a year, but not quite) so I have to find pencils. Zip over to the drug store to pick up prescriptions.

But the nice thing about a storm, if it does arrive, is that I'll be forced to stay inside and watch mystery movies on the Hallmark channel.

And that's why I've got to get those snackies!

Spring!

2008-03-23T10:35:00.000-07:00

Any time the seasons change, something inside me stirs and stretches. I'm such a victim of the calendar. I really don't think I would have noticed the spring equinox if it hadn't been trumpeted on the media, but there you have it. I heard, and that was all it took.

Now I'm in a busy-busy-busy mode. Too ratcheted up to read. Too ratcheted up to sit comfortably at the computer lazing the time away. And actually too ratcheted up to get any meaningful work done in the house. I'm here. I'm there. I'm back to here. Oops--over there.

But what's cool is that the thing inside me that's restless is the writer. She's been slumbering for a long time, sorrowing over losses, and trying to heal some pretty sharp wounds. Now she's waking up, and she's ready. Let's write, she insists. Let's write all those stories you've been dreaming.

There are other hands clutching at me, though. Kitty hands. Children hands. Job hands. House hands. And, ick-ick-ick, tax hands.

But this lady has been waiting a long time. I think she deserves a front seat in my day, don't you?

Loose ends? Tie them up!

2008-03-15T20:23:00.001-07:00

I've had lots of loose ends in my life lately, and I'd planned to tidy them up this weekend. But first I decided to watch a movie with my son.

So we curled up, the cat snoring softly between us, and watched the movie we'd checked out from the friendly neighborhood video store. I'll skip the name of the movie since it's a new release and obviously somebody somewhere liked it--it had a couple of Big Names to star in it plus megachunks of publicity.

We'd missed it in the theater, though we'd wanted to see it. It looked charming and funny. I like movies that make me laugh. When it came out on DVD--and even better, on BlueRay so we could see every glorious moment in HiDef--we rushed out and rented it.

Good thing we didn't buy it.

It wasn't funny. It was so sad in places that we were both trying really hard not to cry. And then at the end, one of the major plot threads--I mean, a REALLY MAJOR PLOT THREAD--hadn't been resolved. Hadn't even been mentioned for the last quarter of the movie. And, to make this even worse, it was the plot issue of the child in the movie.

Loose ends flap around long after the story is done. I'm still bothered by this poor child's dilemma hanging unresolved--and he's not a "real" kid.

Any time we ask a viewer/reader/listener to plunk down even a bit of their hard-earned money, we sure don't want to, wow, ANNOY them.

When I write a synopsis, I also do a graphic representation with plot issues AND both primary and secondary characters at the top, with squiggles and arrows and all kinds of cool artistic things to ensure that they're all addressed throughout the work.

I hope that in my books, I never leave a little boy with his issue unaddressed and unresolved!

The problem for which there is no solution

2008-03-08T22:35:00.000-08:00

Let me begin by saying that yes, there is a solution, but no, I will not do it.

I've found out what the problem is with me and weekends. The Hallmark Channel does mystery shows on the weekend. If there's a "Murder She Wrote" marathon, I'm done for. I love love love that show. I also like "Mystery Woman." But I'll watch Perry Mason or Matlock or Murder 101. Even if I've seen them before, I'm hooked.

Today was a "Jane Doe" marathon. I hadn't watched it before but I was sucked right in and didn't leave my chair except during commercials.

This does not make my weekends especially productive. So I'm blaming Hallmark for my weekend inertia.

Of course I could turn off the television.

Ha.

I don't think so. See, tomorrow there's quite a lovely assortment on, including two "Murder She Wrote" shows, and a Murder 101, and a Perry Mason, a Matlock, and a Diagnosis Murder.

It's hopeless!

Yummy book

2008-03-06T14:39:00.000-08:00

I'm reading Eat, Pray, Love now and I have to say I absolutely love this book. When I began it, I tore through the first third of it in one night. I've purposely cut back to read just a little bit each night before bed and I'm reading it more slowly to absorb it. It's beautifully written and even though the author and I have absolutely nothing in common on the surface, I'm finding pieces of myself in her experiences.

READ THIS BOOK!!!

Most intriguing to me at the moment is her struggle to focus while she meditates or prays. Bingo. My mind is always going full bore even when I want it to SHUT UP! The only time I can even begin to block out--well, I don't know what exactly to call it? Mental chatter?--is when I'm writing.

READ THIS BOOK!!!!

You can break it into small chunks, like I do--and it fits into my chaotic life to read it at night in bed. The author, Elizabeth Gilbert, has a wonderful sense of humor so it's fun reading as well as meaningful reading.

READ THIS BOOK!!!

I'm not kidding. I feel myself growing as I read it. I'm so much better, or at least I feel better, than when I started it.

READ THIS BOOK!!!

(Did I recommend you read this book???)

Leaping into spring

2008-02-29T17:17:00.000-08:00

Feb. 29 is such a misfit day. Every four years it comes pushing and shoving its way into the calendar, making the shortest month of the year an extra day longer. Leap year.

So how did I spend my misfit day? I went to work, but I left early to go to a prayer service for a friend's father who had died. Tomorrow is his funeral.

Funerals are still hard for me. I'm weary of crying. Saddened beyond measure to see my friends crying.

But I'm declaring that today is the kick-off day for spring.

One thing about spring is that it's hard for my spirit to stay low when I see things perking up. I'll find myself watching the scrawny lilac tree/bush thing outside my window. It's the first to report in with buds.

Birds, more than the big black cawing monsters that populate my backyard in winter, making it look like something from a bad folktale--yes, more birds will come and that raucous bleating will be replaced with robin songs.

The snow will go away, and the world will be, as e.e. cummings said, "mud-luscious."

And we will find ourselves smiling again.

Decisions, decisions....

2008-02-23T19:14:00.000-08:00

Where to start the story? What's my character like? Matter of fact, what's her name? What's her problem, anyway? And his? Who is he? He's got to have a name, too--EEEEK!

Too many decisions. This is how messy starting a story can be. Matter of fact, it's kind of like:

MEATLOAF

When my daughter was a young chickadee, she came in to the kitchen. I had a bowl of raw ground beef littered with pieces of shredded bread and chopped onion, and I was cracking an egg over it all. I threw in some Worchestershire sauce and a slug of catsup. Then I dug my hands in, grimaced at how cold (and smelly) it was, and starting mixing it all with my hands.

She peeped over the edge of the bowl and asked, "What's that?"

"Meatloaf," I answered.

"MEATLOAF??? EUUUUUWWWW! That's how you make meatloaf?" She had her I'm gonna urp face on, and she fled the kitchen quickly.

Since that wonderful learning experience, she's never eaten meatloaf.

Starting a story is like making meatloaf. It's really messy at the beginning, doesn't smell so great, and there's no way on this green earth that its beginnings in any way resemble the final product.

But it gets there.

Right now I'm working out all the details of who and where and what in my story. I like to know my story's path before I get started, mainly because I am interrupted so often. I'm still deciding what goes into that bowl. And at some point I'll have to dip my hands into that mixture and begin the process of making a ~~meatloaf~~ book.

Let's hope it's yummier than a meatloaf! (I'm vegetarianish.)

How cold is too cold?

2008-02-20T15:47:00.000-08:00

It was THIRTY-THREE BELOW ZERO this morning when I woke up. Luckily, good northern girl that I am, I'd plugged my car in so it started right up.

But it's mornings like this that make me wonder: WHY????

Dream a little dream of me....

2008-02-19T14:42:00.000-08:00

I had the weirdest experience last night. I dreamed my book.

Now I know this has happened to other writers, but you see, I'm different. I'm sane (see the post below about the roller coaster). (Just teasing, writer friends of mine!) I have perfectly normal dreams in which normal things happen to normal people. They don't always make sense, but that's, well, normal.

I had a friend in grad school who told me about a dream he had about neon fish walking....I'm sure there was more to the dream but I was stopped at "neon fish walking." I never dream like that.

And I certainly never dream about something I'm writing. (Or meaning to write...) And I hadn't taken cold medicine or melatonin or anything. Nope, this came out of my own normal head.

So what does it mean? I think I know--> I need to write this book!

And that's why they call it a cold...

2008-02-13T07:59:00.000-08:00

For the past five days, I've battled a cold and it seems to be settling in my chest. It's not too bad...as long as I don't try to do something silly like BREATHE.

And to add insult to injury, it's reeeeally cold outside. Going into sub-zero temperatures with a chest cold is horrible. So I'm coughing, hacking, and wheezing my way through this week and trying to stay tucked inside as much as possible.

I'm trying to put the last elements of sparkle on a couple of proposals. The problem is that it's hard to sparkle when you're, well, coughing, hacking, and wheezing. That's when a cell phone comes in handy.

I called my friend M.E. in St. Paul. She is the world's BEST plotting partner. We've done this for years, and she's terrific. All I have to do is hear her voice, and I know it's going to work. She can identify a plot oopsie and lead me to a solution. And she helps me find the sparkle.

My local writing pal, Kacie, has gone to snowier pastures in Alaska. She always provided a different angle in helping me develop the plot. She helps me dig into the characters so deeply I should start charging them for psychiatric services. She'll be back in May for a visit--I can't wait!

It takes two to tango--but how many to plot one of Janet's books? Hmmmmm. If my head weren't so clogged with cold goo, I might be able to answer!

Blizzard warnings...

2008-02-09T15:19:00.002-08:00

I think I'll use that as a title for a book. Cool, huh? (Pun sort of intended.)

Sometimes life is just SO unfair. Ask my kids. Why on earth should the blizzard blow through during the night...and on a Friday night, no less? Blizzards are supposed to happen during school hours so they can stay home and watch tv and read and eat.

But the storm came, and it went, and they slept through it. I didn't, but then, I'm the mom.

Here comes the metaphor--> Yes, except for my brief shining moment on the Tower of Terror, a parent is always on duty, and she is alert for the night winds so her children can sleep in safety. And of course, you can ratchet it up one more level, as what happened in a film we saw in church on Ash Wednesday. It's not long, and it's online, so I'll give you the URL.
http://nooma.com/Shopping/ProductDetails.aspx?ProductID=270
It's called "Rain" and it's from NOOMA.
Be ready for tears...

A very magic kingdom, indeed

2008-01-31T22:05:00.000-08:00

I have left the Magic Kingdom behind (and 70-80 degree temps, sadly) and I'm home now. I learned SO MUCH!

1. If you are a man, rethink where you park yourself and your child to watch the Disney parade. HINT: In front of a woman's bathroom is not a good idea. You poor man, you barely got time to settle before you had to move, and move quickly. But bless your heart, you did it with the best of graces. I'm proud of you, even if I have no idea who you are.

2. If you are a child and you were at Disneyworld this past week, reach right around there and give yourself a big pat on the back. I've never seen such a bunch of wonderful children in my life. No screaming. No begging. No arguing. Now the parents....

3. If you work for Disneyworld, hon, I love you. Everybody made the trip truly memorable. There wasn't a clinker in the group.

4. If you are me, sit up straight, not only because it's good posture, but because you deserve to! I went on the Tower of Terror. For however long it took (which my memory places anywhere between sixty seconds and an eternity), I totally gave up all control. I had to just let things happen with faith that things were going to be okay. Well, I screamed the whole time (some things just go better with a lot of noise, and the ToT is one of them) but I did it! And I loved it! I did not, however, do any roller coasters. I am sane. That's my reason. I am sane.

It's good to be home, though, with my cat on my lap and Laundry Mountain awaiting me. Even if I do live in a state that's freakishly cold at the moment, I do have the memory of warm sunshine....

(Read on the plane: WICKED LOVELY. Wow. Just wow.)

Avoiding germs and other microscopic life

2008-01-18T17:37:00.000-08:00

My son has a cold. One of those settle-in-your-throat-and-lungs-and-head colds. I can't get it. I have major plans for the next two weeks, involving some extensive teaching and I just can not get his laryngitis.

So far, so good.

Tonight we go for ice cream. It's -13F, so what else would we do? And what does this offspring of mine do?

HE TAKES A SWIPE OF MY SUNDAE WITH HIS GERM-ENCRUSTED TONGUE!

Yes, I see you all gagging out there. You know where I'm coming from.

So I tell him to use the spoon, scoop off the parts he ate, and I'll use a clean spoon when we get home.

He dutifully scrapes off every part that's come in contact with his bacterial mouth. Licks the spoon.

And sticks it back in the sundae.

Now I ask you, what is a mother to do?

Take a guess!

That was the first one, this is the second!

2008-01-09T15:48:00.001-08:00

Thanks so much for the warm welcome! Janet, Cecilia, Pamela, and Susan, thanks for the comments!

I did neglect to say something in my first post. In addition to writing, knitting, cleaning, and redecorating, I'll also be reading more. And here's why:

www.heartsongmysteries.com

I do love a cozy mystery! Guess I'll need to find a few more of those corners in my life, since I signed up for the club, so they'll come in regularly.

Today was beautiful here--thick white frost coated everything this morning, and I do have to say that the weeping willows, with their black trunks so stark against the bright white frost, were particularly outstanding. I truly had to stop and admire our Creator's handiwork!

And so it begins....

2008-01-08T14:26:00.000-08:00

It's a new year, time for me to embark on a new adventure. So here it is: my blog. Finally. And now, what do I talk about?

My writing? I have many projects in various stages of "finalness." This year my resolution is to do the BEST I can, and that means seeing these projects through to completion, or at least as many of them as humanly possible.

So this year, I'll be writing, knitting, cleaning, and redecorating, trying to fit all that into the corners of my life when I'm not being with my family or doing my job. Let's hope that my life has LOTS of corners!

Janet