Month: November 2022

Aging Like a Fine Whine

My right knee no longer likes me. Even during water aerobics, the gentlest of workouts, that knee doth protest way too much. And I amplify its complaints with my own whining. “Ow!” “Ouch!” “?$&@/!”

So, on the 30th of this month, at some time still to be determined, I’m having a little procedure aimed at relieving some of that pain. Now, Studly Doright is fond of telling people how I made him walk to such a procedure many years ago. And it’s true.

I was a new teacher—afraid to take a day off lest I miss the day I was to be observed by my principal. And in my mind, Studly was having a minor procedure. It was day surgery after all. I just needed to be there to pick him up. Silly me.

I’d forgotten that his pickup truck was a manual transmission and that his knee was in such bad shape that he couldn’t bend it to work the clutch. And he never mentioned a thing, knowing how worried I was about the observation. So he walked, on a bad knee, about two miles to the surgical center.

When I arrived to pick him up, the nurses berated me. “Where have you been? He’s been so sick.”

Still clueless, I said, “At work.” Duh.

It is a testament to his love for me that he only mentions this horrible story once a year. If the situation were reversed, I’d likely harp on it every night.

Of course, as the date for my procedure draws near I am a becoming a little nervous. We live about 20 miles from the outpatient surgical center. Perhaps I should begin walking now. Whining all the way.

Peace, people.

Just in Time for the Holidays

My newest book, Christmas at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, is live on Amazon!

Book four in the Happy Valley series finds Paula Arnett feeling a little humbug-ish as the Yuletide holiday rolls around. Her heart is in for a few surprises as the season unfolds. And not all of them come tied up in red ribbons and bows.

The books are best read in order, with Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort the first offering in the series. I hope you’ll consider joining the Happy Valley family. We’re a fun bunch.

Look for the books on Amazon!

Leaving Las Vegas

I had a crazy, wonderful week at the 20Books conference in Vegas. The conference featured some of the best indie authors in the business, from all over the world. I’m still a little star struck.

Craig Martelle? He was there. Elena Johnson? Sure thing. Michael Anderle? Yep. Britt Andrews? Oui! Kevin J. Anderson? Holy cow! Kevin McLaughlin? Yes, indeed. And these writers are just the tip of the iceberg.

When I wasn’t engaged in geeking out over meeting some of my writing heroes, I was busy learning stuff. Important stuff. And meeting TONS of people. My voice is practically gone.

I have wonderful ideas for incorporating all the knowledge I gained, but the main thing on my agenda now is getting home to Studly Doright and Gracie the cat. My flight leaves early in the morning, so I’m heading to bed soon. Hoping I can sleep even as my mind churns with possibilities.

Thank you for hanging with me!

Peace, people!

Vegas, Here I Come

I’m packed. Kind of. If there were a global list of travelers listed in order from most capable to least, I’d rank in the lower 10 percent. Right above those who’ve never left their homes and below those who once took a trip to their Aunt Jane and Uncle Bob’s place one town over.

No, scratch that, they’re all likely more capable than I am, and at one time in my life I flew weekly to visit schools all over the country. Back then, I was a lean, mean packing machine. I could cram all my training materials and a week’s worth of clothing into one suitcase in less than an hour.

And now? Now it takes me all day and I still end up leaving something at home or packing the wrong clothes or forgetting that my tennis shoes don’t necessarily go with everything.

Still, I’m packed. Kind of.

In spite of my failings, I’m super excited. I’ll be at Bally’s (aka The Horseshoe) in Las Vegas for a writing conference where I hope to learn from some of the best in the business. I wonder if any of them teach a class on packing? If so, sign me up!

Peace, people.

Who Will I Call?

I just saw this television commercial. Can’t even remember what they were advertising, but it featured a daughter calling her mom (or mother-in-law) to help her with the ingredients for the stuffing she was making for Thanksgiving dinner.

When the call ended, the father said to the mother something like, “She’s made that stuffing for years.” And the mother just smiled and took his hand in hers. It’s not that the daughter NEEDED to call, but that she WANTED to call.

And I thought, “Who will I call this year?” All the women I called while cooking my holiday meals are gone now. Their breadth and depth of knowledge gone with them. The smiles in their voices when I asked some dumb question about deviled eggs or giblet gravy, even though I knew the answers by heart. I just wanted to feel closer to them even though we were hundreds of miles apart. To let them know I still needed them, I called.

Again I thought, “Who will I call this year?” Then I cried.

Peace, people.

Whelm

whelm (verb)

past tense: whelmed; past participle: whelmed

  1. engulf, submerge, or bury (someone or something).”a swimmer whelmed in a raging storm”
    • flow or heap up abundantly.”the brook whelmed up from its source”

I’ve been trying to come up with a sentence for just plain old whelm. Maybe, “I was going to whelm them with my talent, but changed my mind at the last minute.“

Or, “He had to whelm everyone with his charm.”

It’s just weird, right? And then to think one can be overwhelmed, even underwhelmed. Personally, I’m over whelm. Just over it.

Peace, people.

Cosplay Blues

Next week at the writers’ conference in Vegas one day is designated Cosplay Day. I had to ask what that meant, ‘cos I’m not that with it these days.

So, basically, it’s a day one can dress in costume as one might on Halloween. Back when we lived in Illinois I dressed in costume to give out candy to trick or treaters. Usually my costumes were out of touch enough that kids had to ask me what I was.

My favorite was a red and white striped costume I pieced together, then called myself Not Waldo. Another year I wore one of Studly Doright’s shirts and inserted a doll’s head through the neck opening to create a two-headed monster. The head kept slipping inside my shirt, so I just had it peek out between button holes. In short, my costumes sucked.

So, when I learned about this cosplay thing I knew I had to up my game, but I couldn’t come up with even a hint of an idea. Then, a couple of nights ago I was rewatching Return of the Jedi (perhaps for the millionth time) and realized I should dress up as Mon Mothma—mostly because she has short hair and I wouldn’t need a wig.

I abandoned the movie and began searching the internet for Mon Mothma costumes. They were available, but wouldn’t arrive until after I’d left home for the conference. But the costume is fairly simple and I figured I could scrounge around for a long white dress and sleeveless vest. Add some braiding on the bodice and voilà!

It’s fall. Closing in on winter. The only long white dresses I could locate were on Amazon, and now shipping is delayed due to a little hurricane sitting off the coast of Florida. Okay, I’ll be Mon Mothma another year.

A black and white dress that I haven’t worn in quite a while caught my eye from the back of the closet. I could be Cruella Deville! All I need is a black and white wig. Surely Party City has one. Nope. And Amazon can’t deliver one until after I’ve departed for my trip.

But that’s okay. I’ve decided to go as an undercover spy. All I need to do is be myself and play it cool while leaving cryptic notes for others to decipher.

Acepe Oeplpe! (Peace People)

Fictional Crushes

I saw this question on Facebook, then stole it for my author page:

Do you have a literary crush? A fictional guy or gal who makes your heart beat just a little faster?

For me, it’s Jamie from Outlander. Oh, and Roark from J.D. Robb’s “In Death” series. And if I’m being honest, I have a huge crush on Mark Fields, aka Dr. Hunky, from my own Happy Valley series. Of course, I get to tell him what to say and how to act, so it’s no wonder I love him. Too bad that doesn’t work in real life with Studly Doright.

Studly: “Hey, I’m going for a burger. Want one?“

Me: “Studly, maybe you should ask like this: ‘Hey sweetheart, I love you and can’t bear to be away from you for very long, so would you please come along with me to get dinner? We’ll go anywhere you choose. You’re just so beautiful and sweet and smart, and…’ Studly? Studly?”

Anyway, who’s your fictional crush?

Peace, people.

It’s Like This, Cat

Gracie and I had a heart-to-heart talk this morning about Daylight Savings Time.

Starting at 4:30 a.m.

Gracie: (poking on Studly Doright’s nose) “Meow?”

Me: “Gracie, shh! It’s not time to get up yet.“

Gracie: (rubbing her head against the alarm clock) “Meow.”

Me: “The humans have messed with time. It makes no sense to us either, but we’ll acclimate.”

Gracie: (striding across Studly’s body and plopping onto my chest.) “Meow!!!”

Me: (pushing myself out of bed) “But until we acclimate I’ll bow to your wishes. As usual.”

Gracie: (supervising the food delivery system, aka, me) “Purrrrrrrr.”

She’s now sleeping soundly on my feet. Little tyrant.

Peace, people.

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