For Christmas my beautiful and thoughtful and exceedingly brilliant daughter presented me with the coolest gift.
Ashley purchased the miniature replica of Mayhem from a seller on Etsy, and I think it’s about the coolest thing ever. People are so darned clever and my daughter seems to know where to find the cleverest.
Peace, people!
Last night I stayed up late (okay, past nine p.m.), having played trivia at a local wings place with Meetup group friends. Six of us showed up and we appeared to have a good mix of seasoned women my age and a couple of younger women.
Right off the bat, though, we had a problem. No other teams showed up to play. What to do? Simple—we split into three teams. So, it wasn’t ideal for chatting, but we made it work.
I was one of the lucky ones because I had a younger teammate. She knew the 90’s music and artists while I knew stuff like, “At which US president’s inauguration did Maya Angelou read a poem?” and “In the Napoleon Dynamite movie which character married LaFawnduh?” You know, weighty stuff.
We won first place and performed a victory dance. Well, I did a victory dance while my teammate ducked her head in embarrassment, but still…I wonder if that’s why she left ahead of the rest of us?
With just three teams, we finished the game early and then had time to chat for a bit. I had the farthest to drive so I brought my winnings (a $10 coupon for food at the grill) back to Doright Manor and celebrated by taking two Tylenol and going to bed. Ah! Living the good life.
Peace, people.
I’m in need of a friend. And not just any old friend—I need the kind who will let me know when there’s a hair sprouting from my neck before it reaches epic proportions. Yeah, I went about town thinking I looked kind of cute today, only to come home to discover a two-inch (at least) hair front and center about three inches below my chin where it had grown to maturity in the shadow of my lower jaw.
Argh!
Peace, people!
Dear Readers,
I pride myself on having a decent grasp of the ins and outs of American English. Words are my friends. Family mythology has me reciting the Declaration of Independence before I could walk. (In actuality, it was the Pledge of Allegiance, still an accomplishment for a ten-month-old, but my maternal grandmother insisted it was the Declaration of Independence. She thought I was much more precocious than I was).
So why, at the advanced age of 65 did I not know that the phrase “shoe-in” is, instead, “shoo-in?”
The grammar program on my computer flagged the term “shoe-in” and I ignored the warning. But the red mark on the screen bugged me until I finally googled the phrase.
I’ll be darned.
Be honest, now—haven’t you always thought it was “shoe-in?” Surely I’m not the only one.
Peace, people!
When my first novel, Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort received its first truly negative review on Amazon I must admit my feelings were hurt. Prior to that scathing piece of commentary most of the reviews had been stellar. I’d been in a bubble of positivity and it burst. Ouch.
After more than a year since its publication, the book has continued to receive mostly four and five star reviews. They make me smile, especially when they are from folks I don’t know personally. I’ve hopefully learned to read the constructive types of negative reviews as a way to make my writing better.
But the book received a doozy of a negative review a few days ago. Here, I’ll share it with you. That either makes me brave or stupid. Talk amongst yourselves.
Okay, lady (or gentleman) reviewer, tell us what you really think. 😳
If you’ve read Mayhem you might think, “Did this reviewer actually read the book?” I wondered that myself. I won’t refute everything she/he commented on, but nowhere in the book did I bash fishermen, and I never said lesbians get a bad deal in life (do they? My lesbian friends don’t seem to), and if the book in some way intimated that all men are bad, I certainly couldn’t see it. I kind of like men, a lot, and my characters do, too. Dr. Hunky, anyone?
I guess beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder, or in this case, the ugliness is in the imagination of the reviewer.
Now I think I’ll go read the negative reviews on Diana Gabaldon’s latest book. Yes, even her work gets blasted. I must be in good company.
Peace, people.
After the death of my mother-in-law, Saint Helen, we found boxes and boxes of photographs. I believe we could’ve papered the interior of her home with old photos and still had enough remaining to fill a dozen albums.
Many of the photos were ones I’d seen before: baby pictures of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, along with photos from her retirement party and the trip she took to Alaska. But Saint Helen had saved some from the time she and I visited her eldest daughter, Lyn, in Jamaica, that I didn’t know existed.
I’ll share one with you because it features all three of us, Lyn, Saint Helen, and me. We’d gone on an adventure that day to a natural water park, the name of which escapes me now, but I clearly remember the day. The perfect weather and invitingly warm waters had the three of us giggling like little kids as we slid down the slippery rocks and plunged into a pool, only to climb again for another trip down. None of us were youngsters, but we all felt young that day.
They both are gone now, having passed within a day of each other from COVID just a few weeks ago.
Lyn died first, and I can clearly picture her beckoning her mother on from the other side. You know none of us could ever resist Lyn when she invited us on an adventure. I’d like to think they’re carefree again like we were on that beautiful Jamaica day.
Peace, people.
James Taylor knew, didn’t he, the pain of
Thinking he’d have one more chance
To hold a hand
To say the words and hear theirs in return
To savor their embrace
Only to be denied these comforts
Forever.
Oh, I always thought that I’d see them
One more time again.
My daily writing goal is a minimum of a thousand words. Some days those words come easily and I sprint on by, never noticing when the benchmark is surpassed. Other days, I slog through, checking periodically to see if I’ve met my self-imposed standard. It’s amazing how I can toil for hours and only produce 478 words. And then hours more to have merely added another twelve.
One of my writing heroes, Stephen King, writes 2,000 words or more a day. I’ve reasoned that he’s probably not also doing laundry, shopping for groceries, and maintaining a fairly clean house on a daily basis as I do. But who knows? Maybe Mr. King scrubs toilets between paragraphs. Now that’s something I’d like to see.
The thousand words a day have added up to more than 40,000 words in my current work in progress—Reunion at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, the third book in my Happy Valley series. That’s almost half a book. Its predecessors are doing well, thanks to my lovely readers (links below, of course).
Now, if only the number of words in a blog post counted toward my daily word count I’d be well on my way to 1,000 words. Alas, that is not the case and I’d best get to writing because no one wants to purchase half a book.
Peace, people!
My friend, Lori Roberts Herbst, has a new book out! Frozen in Motion is the third book in the Callie Cassidy Mysteries series, and like the first two books, this one kept me guessing until the very end.
I’ve come to love the characters in this series. Watching them evolve is a pleasure. Fiercely independent Callie and sweet, romantic Sam have to face some relationship issues in this offering, making it the perfect read for Valentine’s Day.
If you’re looking for a fun, edge of the seat adventure, with a dollop of romance added in, you’ll enjoy Frozen in Motion.
Peace, people!
Today I have a scheduled appointment with my gastroenterologist. To be precise, I’m slated to see his Physician’s Assistant. My previous meetings with both men have been aggravating.
Yes, I know I’m no spring chicken, but that doesn’t mean my concerns should be dismissed with the wave of a hand and a suggestion, literally given as the doctor was running out of the exam room so he could talk to a pharmaceutical rep, to maybe stay off of dairy. No follow up visit was scheduled. No suggestion as to what I should do if going dairy-free didn’t work.
So today I’m going to try again, because for two years now I’ve been 99.9% dairy free, and am still battling some of the same issues that first brought me to this doctor. I’d say 100%, but I know sometimes the barista accidentally uses cow’s milk in my chai lattes.
Yes, I should’ve made a follow up appointment on my own, but COVID came along and my stomach issues didn’t seem so urgent in the face of all that was going on in the world. So here I go. I’m armed with knowledge and dairy free.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 