Tag: humor

The Traveler’s Dilemma

Today I’m leaving England. I really don’t want to go, but at the same time, I can’t wait to be home. I miss my husband and my cat. My bed. My shower. My water aerobics class, too.

I’ll miss the people I’ve encountered here, though, like the Canadian couple I dined with two nights ago at this cozy little hotel in Horley, near Gatwick airport. They’d come to England on a teacher exchange program many years ago and come back for a visit. They once met Princess Diana’s mum in the basement at Harrod’s department store.

Then there was the elderly gentleman who regaled all the guests in the hotel’s common room last night with stories of his adventures. He’s heading to Vermont today to see his great grandchildren who he’s not seen since the start of the pandemic. I didn’t ask his age, but I’m guessing he’s in his eighties. Lovely man—the son of an American soldier who, after returning to the states, never acknowledged his English son.

And most of all, I’ll miss my friends, Shirley and Mike, and their son, George. The trio had me in stitches most of the time I was here—either from laughter or exercise, and sometimes both at the same time. They’d take me and sweet Rosie the wonder dog, on long marches through the countryside. I’d huff and puff while Rosie frolicked, running hellbent for leather hither and yon across fields and through the woods.

They introduced me to crumpets for breakfast, then fed me beautiful meals every evening to restore any weight I might’ve dropped during the long walks. I’m afraid to step on the scales when I’m back home.

Okay, I need to finish packing so I can catch a plane. But first, one final crumpet please.

Peace, people!

On My Own in London

I have decided that the English are the kindest, most genuinely nice people in the entire universe. From offering directions, to giving me their map, to walking blocks out their way with me to Buckingham Palace, to making sure I only got a brief glimpse of a man standing at the urinal, these people have been angels.

Well done, I say. Well done.

Peace, people.

The Early Bird

Today’s the day my flight leaves for England. I was so excited I barely slept last night. I’d packed two days earlier, only adding the few odds and ends this morning. Double-checked my list around 8 a.m. and took a movie break, figuring I’d leave for the airport around 11 for my 1:43 flight.

So I watched Buzz Lightyear on Disney Plus then once it was over, I loaded up the car with my luggage and headed out of the housing development. It was only ten, so I was way early. But I’d gone about a mile and remembered I’d never made copies of my passport: one to leave at home and another to keep in my carry-on luggage just in case my purse happened to be stolen.

I turned back to the house and ran inside with my passport, quickly popped out two copies and was on my way again. I needed new mascara and a Starbucks drink, so I detoured to Target. Once in the Target parking lot I thought I should clean my glasses, and in the midst of doing that I realized I’d done something really stupid—left my passport in the copier.

Good grief. I still had plenty of time but now my heart was racing like an Indy car on the home stretch. What else could I possibly screw up today?

I hustled back home, grabbed the passport, and decided to skip Starbucks and Target, and head straight to the airport. And here I am. With more than enough time to spare. In fact, the gate agent commented on it.

“My you’re an early bird.”

Let’s hope I’m not in for more bothersome “worms.” I’ve caught quite enough already.

Peace, people.

Unapologetic Late Bloomer

Every now and then I remember I have several books available on Amazon and I do a little happy dance.

Y’all, I’d dreamed of writing a book since I was a gangly little second grader in Mrs. Gregory’s classroom. Mrs. Gregory didn’t much care for me. I talked too much and once punched a fellow student in the nose resulting in copious amounts of blood on the classroom floor (it was an accident, sort of—he and I still laugh about it—sort of). Yet she was the teacher who made me first think of becoming a writer.

She’d given us a writing prompt: Four sequential pictures featuring a little girl standing on her front porch with a saucer of milk, and a growing number of thirsty kittens arriving to partake.

In response to the prompt, I wrote a rather lengthy tome. Not only that, but my tale was gripping. Hard to put down. Real Pulitzer material. Okay, I made that stuff up, but for a seven-year-old, it was darned good. So good, in fact, that Mrs. Gregory called my mom and told her I had real possibilities in the field of writing.

To my mom, who was an avid reader, that call was a big deal. One would’ve thought the teacher believed I might be a young Alberta Einstein or something. That was hardly the case, but my mom was pleased. She told everyone. And then everyone expected me to become a famous author.

Fast forward several decades in which I was NOT a famous author. In my 64th year of life, I finished a hefty manuscript titled Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort. Then wondered, What to do? What to do?

Do I begin searching for an agent? Sending it directly to publishing houses? Do I take the chance that my book might never gain an audience? I couldn’t take that chance. So, for the first time in my life I made a really bold decision. I found a good editor and self-published Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort through Kindle Direct Publishing. Now, nearly two years later, there are three books in the series and a stand alone romance. Not bad for a late bloomer.

My only regrets are that my mom and dad never got to see my book in print and that I once punched a good friend in the nose. Sorry about that J.W.G.

Peace, people!

At Least I Speak the Language

In a very few days, I’m heading off on a grand adventure. Alone. To a foreign country. My emotions right now run the gamut from pure excitement to abject terror.

Mostly excitement, though. You see, I’m going to England to hang out with a couple of dear friends I’ve never actually met. Via FaceTime, the three of us have assured one another that we’re not axe murderers, and honestly, I’m positive they aren’t.

We’re keeping our plans fluid because I know how annoying I can be and they might want me gone after day one. I can also be charming, though, and in that case, they might want me to stay forever. In either event, I’ve booked a few days at a hotel in London and a return trip because at some point Studly Doright is going to miss me.

I leave on Tuesday and would love some good travel vibes—luggage that makes the trip with me, smooth flights, pleasant seat mates, on time arrivals, etc. Oh, just for the record, I’m leaving my axe at home.

Peace, people!

Old Dog; New Knowledge

Have you ever learned something new that rocked your world in the best way possible? That’s what happened to me this morning

It all came about because a couple of months ago I found an amazing water aerobics class populated by the smartest, sweetest, funniest, most beautiful women in Tallahassee. And they’ve let me into their queendom! They just didn’t know what a dolt I can be.

Every class session I work as hard as I can while having as much fun as I can, and I’d begun wishing I could keep track of my water workouts on my Apple Watch. But like a dutiful fool, prior to class I’d remove my watch and store it in my pool bag.

Then today, one of the lovely women in the group asked, “Why are you taking your watch off?”

“Because it’s not waterproof.”

“Is so.”

“Is not!”

It was an intensely mature conversation.

She then proceeded to show me how to activate this little water drop 💧 icon that keeps water from getting into the works and mucking everything up. At least that’s how it was explained to me. Technical AND mature.

Then when the workout’s over, one simply removes the watch and twists the knob on the side until an image of dissipating droplets fills the screen. Bye bye water! It’s just cool beyond belief.

So someone please tell me I’m not the only one who didn’t know about this feature. What’s that? Crickets?

🦗🦗🦗

Peace, people!

Four Freaking Million!

How many of you are Kindle Unlimited members? I have to confess until my first book had been out for quite a while I had no idea what KU was, so I didn’t make the book available on the service for a little over six months.

Then, a fantastic author and friend, Lori Roberts Herbst (her Callie Cassidy series is wonderful), encouraged me to check out KU, and, oh, what a difference it’s made!

Readers who subscribe to Kindle Unlimited pay a monthly fee that allows them to read any kindle books that are part of the program for “free”—granted one pays about $9.99 a month, but if you’re like me, I easily spend that on a single paperback or ebook. If you’re a devourer of books, and you do your reading on a kindle, KU is a really good deal.

Several folks have asked me how the author benefits from KU. We make an estimated $4.75 for every 1200 pages read–the amount varies from month to month depending on the number of people who are KU members, and I always estimate on the low side.

Now, that doesn’t sound like much, but since I listed my books on KU a little more than a year ago over four million pages of my books have been read.

That’s pretty darned cool. Thanks for “listening” to my TED talk. 😉😉

The 3 Deadly P’s

Parachuting

Pole vaulting

Public speaking

Discuss amongst yourselves.

Fun With Lightning

As I’m typing this it’s 3:30 p.m. in Tallahassee, FL, on Tuesday, August 9, 2022. I’m trapped in my car by a thunderstorm of incredible intensity. As one lightning strike ends another takes its place and the thunder rolls in a continuous symphony of earth shaking booms. The storm’s now been raging for over half an hour. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.

I texted Studly Doright and told him what’s going on. He’s still at work, you see, in another part of town. He told me he loved me and that it’s been fun… Gee, that’s reassuring.

Y’all carry on.

Peace, people!

Sidewalk Marketing

Every Wednesday a group of about six male coffee drinkers meets at a table outside the coffee shop I frequent for my writing. I’ve exchanged pleasantries with the men on occasion, but never stopped to talk.

This morning as I was leaving, having reached my daily writing goal, one of the men said, “Leaving early today?”

“Yessir. I reached my word count so now I can go spend my husband’s money on frivolous stuff like food and gasoline.”

They all laughed, so I figured my work on earth was done.

“You’re a writer then?” Another man asked.

Now, the smart a** side of me wanted to say something witty, but the regular side of me couldn’t come up with anything, so I just admitted to being a writer.

And then I went into marketing mode. Sold six books. Yay me.

http://Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort (The Happy Valley Series) https://a.co/d/0U05QVo