Spring Vacation was a learning time for me.  There were many interesting things to do and of course I wanted to do them all at once so I could play.

 I was well on the way to cleaning our room when I got a brilliant idea:  the plastic bag in my hand could join its colorful buddies in the pantry and be recycled in a creative way.  I have a plethora of plastic bags of various colors, and it is almost Easter.  Those bags could be shredded in the shredder and make a multi-colored Easter grass.  I would eliminate the trip to the store to buy a little plastic bag of that stuff the cat likes to eat and then vomit onto the clean carpet.  That’s when I made a big discovery.         

The paper shredder does not like plastic bags.  Although the ones in the store shred and rip easily if filled with apples or other fruit, and usually do it about the time you have them poised over an oil leak on the pavement outside, they do not go through the shredder.  They get clogged up in the intake and then wrap themselves around and around and around each little circular knife.  Actually, I should clarify.  They do shred, and then they wrap their tiny little pieces, all stretched out and tangled into each other, around the blades. 

It takes much longer to clean out the shredder than it would have to put the bag in the trash, even though the shredder was close, and much longer than going to the store as well. 

The little screws holding the shredder together are under those little stickers on the back that say, “Removing this sticker will void the warranty.”  Who are they kidding?  Removing them is next to impossible.  They are put on so tight that the only way to get to the screw under them is to puncture them with the screwdriver. 

Once the shredder is shredded, er taken apart, do be careful of the little knife teeth.  Don’t use your fingers.  Use a screwdriver instead.  Along the way I did learn that blood does not harm the shredder, (and that I needed to go to the store to buy another box or two of band aids).   

Pulling all the little pieces out of the teeth is not easy, especially if you had put the shredder in reverse trying to solve the problem in the first place.  Somehow that makes the plastic super twisted, balled up and thoroughly clogs the little plastic, (Easy to break,) intake mechanisms.   

When most of the plastic has been removed from the teeth and your band aids are firmly planted on the millions of little teeth cuts, attempt to vacuum the scraps of bag that have fallen all over the floor and cling like, well little pieces of plastic, to anything except the trash can. (They are allergic to trash cans.)  

Do be careful as those little screws that absolutely would not come out of their holes in the beginning, go willingly into the vacuum tube like lemmings to the sea.  I took the vacuum apart and plowed through an almost full bag of dirt and various other debris, to retrieve those little screws. Then I had to put the vacuum back together. I decided that the extra parts could go in hubby’s tool box so we could find them if we ever found where they went.

The cat wandered through and by through I mean through the pile of dirt and then sat just out of reach with her nose in the air.  I scooped up most of the dirt with my hands and a dust pan.  The vacuum seemed to work okay mostly except for the billowing dirt cloud it shot into the living room.  Then I put the shredder back together.  It worked fine too, blood and all, as long as I didn’t put more than one small paper in at a time.

I’m telling you, Easter grass is cheaper in the store.

My husband and I went on an early morning trip recently and I, with better eyesight than him, volunteered to drive. That’s not to say I have perfect eyesight.  How hard could it be, driving with all of the cars and trucks going the same speed in the same direction, and everyone minding their own business, leaving enough space to maneuver in? That morning, the red pre-dawn lights formed a really beautiful pattern.

“See, dear, this is great.  I’m seeing much better.” I had recently undergone cataract surgery and this was my maiden voyage.

Before long, however, some hot shot race car driver wanna-be decided that things were far too tame for him. He pulled first into one lane and then into the other, darting between cars and trucks like a hummingbird in a duel, leaving the rest of us sweating and swearing. Out of nowhere a blue flash sped past everyone, chased the race car driver between rows of tail lights, leaving a disorganized mess of red trying to avoid meshing with the hummingbird or the blue light.

 “Relax, Honey,” Hubby said.

“What makes you think I’m not relaxed?”

“I can see the whites of your knuckles.”

One finger at a time, I loosened my fingers on the wheel. A tractor trailer rig passed me and pulled just barely in front of me, leaving me driving between two big rigs, a sedan sandwich.  The driver had his eyes pasted somewhere in the distance and I didn’t exist on his radar, the same way a fly sits on the ground in front of a raging bull. I pulled into the next lane to avoid being eaten in that sandwich.

Traffic slowed and instantly I was in the middle of a whole bunch of vehicles, all braking, forming a sea of red lights screaming, “Stop!” After a light year of tensing and looking in the rear view mirror, hoping nothing would plow into this parking lot from behind, we moved. Celebrate! I cautiously pulled out. False alarm, we moved only long enough to change into second gear, and then we halted. We passed a 60 mile per hour speed limit sign so slowly I could have painted it and still driven.  I put that speed on my wish list for next Christmas, because we clearly weren’t going to get to go that fast in my lifetime. 

Twenty one minutes and 26 seconds later, I finally saw that the problem was an onramp. What idiot decided that two lanes of perfectly full traffic could merge into one with no slowdown? Was he on crack?

One car at a time sped down the onramp aiming toward freeway speed which we were not even close to going, signaled, and then tried to fit his great American Detroit whale into the space not big enough for a bicycle between me and the Buick in front of me. I stopped, and considered backing up, allowing the intruder into the non-existent slot.  The driver in back of him tried to weasel his way in too, but no, I wouldn’t let him. He could wait his turn like the rest of us.

When that the jostling for position and power was over, and there was nothing to intrude, traffic picked up again.  Slowly at first, the cars resumed their regular positions, accelerating until we were almost up to school zone speed.  At this point, we were to merge with another onramp. No one exited, and there was a line of cars and delivery vans trying to enter.

I suspected that the engineers that designed this system thought that the same number of cars would exit as enter.  Ha! Why would that happen?  People wouldn’t be returning home until evening when the call of children, dinner and a possibility of a soft bed for the night prompted them to participate in another harrowing drive going in the opposite direction. Like the tide, it surged one way in the morning and the other way at night.

The freeway ahead looked like a full parking lot with only one exit.  It was moving at a slug’s pace, just enough to keep drivers from reading the morning paper while waiting their turn.

Hubby interrupted my traffic review. “Oh, look, Honey, the mountain is beautiful with the sun beginning to show behind it.”

“I can’t look.  I’m too busy keeping this hunk of metal on the road between the chunks of rolling flotsam.  Take a picture.”

“If you would only relax, it would be much easier. Oh, and could you slow down so I could get it in focus?”

“No.  Catch it when we come to a stop again in a few minutes.  By the way, where are we?”

“I thought you could see. Just read the road signs.”

“I can’t see them. I mean I could read them if I could find them, but I’m too busy keeping the crazy drivers from hitting me.  Look, the one there in front of me must be blind, because he’s only staying in the lane by bumping the lane markers on one side and then the ones on the other side. He can hear when he isn’t in his lane anymore.”

“Our exit is right up there, you need to get over to the right two lanes. Our exit is next.”

“Over or under this semi next to us?”

“Just slow down a little and then you can go behind him.”

I slowed down all right. So did the truck. Not to be outdone, I slowed more.  So did the truck. Finally I caught a glimpse of him in his mirror. He was smiling and signaling that he wanted to move into my lane. I panicked, stepped on my, brake and let him pass, thinking I could just slide into his place in the next lane.

By the time the 18 wheeler was in my lane, the place he had been was already taken by an SUV and a Mini Cooper with an attitude.

“Just signal and put your nose in. You should be good at this. They’ll let you in.” Hubby was full of ideas.

“If we get smashed, it’s your fault. And what do you mean that I should be good at this? ” I said through clenched teeth.

“You’re always putting your nose into things, but I meant it in the kindest way.”

I would have showed him my middle finger if I could have pried it off of the steering wheel. It wasn’t worth it.  He would hear from me later that night, besides, I had other things to do just now, like drive.

I signaled, but there wasn’t even a foot to put my nose into. Finally some kind driver let me get the front end of my sedan into his lane.  He skidded sideways a little while stopping to let me in. The next lane was a little more difficult. The lane I was in was so bumpy from all of the trucks that had been on it in the last 200 years, doing whatever trucks do to mess up a road, that the car was riding a washboard and my eyes couldn’t focus on anything.  I saw the exit, signaled and turned my wheel.  Tires screeched, and I didn’t dare look at the other driver for fear of actually seeing his expression.

Hubby squirmed in his seat, “You have to wait until they pass you to do that.  You almost hit that poor driver.”

“It wouldn’t have done me any good either, you know.”

“But it was me looking almost under the hood of that SUV,” he said.

I banked hard to the right.  Horns blared.  I didn’t care. I was almost there.  Just as I pulled into the parking lot, the sun was thinking of getting out of bed.

“You seem a little tense.  You can relax now.” Hubby was so funny.

I glared at him. “Get me a wrench and some W-D40 to unbolt my white knuckled fingers from the steering wheel, and get a walker for my wobbly legs.”

Together we proceeded into the specialist’s office. I marched up to the receptionist’s window.  She opened it slowly, obviously in no hurry.

“Didn’t you get my message?  I sent it to you half an hour ago. The doctor is ill today. So your appointment has been changed until tomorrow at the same time.”

The sign said, “Welcome to Aberdeen, Come as You Are”.

I panicked.  Do other places have a dress code? I’ve seen lots of welcome signs and none of them said come as you are.  I had never thought of places having a dress code just to get into town.  Maybe some towns I have to wear a suit, which I don’t own, or a dress, which I also don’t own, at least not one that fits.  Do I have to wear blue and green and pass a yelling test to get into Seattle?  What if I don’t have clothes that color? Maybe I should be more careful.  Who knows what kind of trouble may be lurking at the entrance to other towns, but of course I was in Aberdeen so I could come any way I wanted to, even in my birthday suit if I was so inclined, according to the sign. But I won’t because I don’t have a decent one of those. (Mine’s indecent.)

Maybe they meant “Come in a Car”. I’m safe. I have a sedan, nice, small, goes fast or slow, pretty color, holds four people, has four wheels, and a motor that runs when it’s not idle. It would be easier to drive in Aberdeen, no semis to compete with on the road, no huge pickups to avoid, just little cars, zooming from here to there. My friends might not be able to go through town, though with their SUV or their truck. A truck doesn’t count, does it?  That would make sense except for the people that walk or ride a bike or a motorcycle, or a bus or a train or a boat.

 But then I thought,” Come as you Are”, how else would I come?  Maybe I should come as I aren’t. What could that be?

Since Aberdeen sits on the harbor, maybe I could come as a pelican, all brown with a long beak that I cannot carry out front so I lay it on my back to fly. That would work.  I aren’t a pelican. Or maybe as seaweed, all anchored to the ocean floor, a rock for a holdfast, swaying in the waves. No, I’m not good at hula dancing. I know, I could be one of those swinging clams on the beach, you know the ones. They slip out of their shells at night and party so much that they forget them when they retreat into the sea, so we find those exquisite little numbers just lying on the sand where the clams dropped them. I’ve certainly carried enough of them home. Or perhaps I’d come as a shark, with rows of spiky teeth and sandpaper for skin, all ready to carouse and bite, and cause no end of trouble. But then I thought, no, I don’t want to come as a sea creature, I mean, I would have nothing to wear. I don’t even own a sharkskin suit and those clam shells are far too small to fit into.

I guess just being myself is enough for Aberdeen.  So I’ll drive through on my way to the beach, in whatever I happen to be wearing. And stick my mermaid tail out the window.  Let them gawk. I’ll write book about it.

It’s a time to make New Year Resolutions, or Revolutions as one commercial says.  It’s amazing how one letter of difference changes the word so much.  Anyway, here are mine: 

1)      I promise to myself to finish the writing projects I have started and to take up one more.  (I don’t know which one, and I have 3 in mind.)

2)      I promise to send one manuscript out each week.  (I actually have many picture book and children’s books to send out.)  This is harder than you might think.  You see, most of the time, when I send out a manuscript, I get no reply or a quick one.  (I think I’ll have to pass on this one.  Thanks for letting me read it.)  When I put my baby out for others to see it is perfect in my eyes.  I would be willing to edit or rewrite if I just knew what they didn’t like in most cases.  One of my manuscripts is in rhyme and that is not something most editors like these days.  Kids love rhyme, but editors see far too many poorly rhymed pieces.  That makes my story of a little boy trying to find something cool to do on a sunny summer day unsalable to some.  However, I have the pictures firmly in mind, but alas I am not an artist.

3)      I promise to learn how to illustrate my own books.  That’s harder than it looks too.  First of all I have to learn to draw with some accuracy the things I see with my brain.  Secondly, I have to learn to make whimsical consistent drawings.  That is, the same style for the entire book.  I’m working on that very slowly. 

4)      I promise to mention my currently published books, Crossing the Raging River and Don’t Kill the Opera more often in print.  (If you haven’t read them, you might like them.  They’re available on Amazon.)

5)      I promise to spend time with the Bible every day before starting this work.  Now that may not seem important, but it is.  You see, it is like getting my marching orders daily.  If I do this on my own, I won’t do as great of a job as with inspiration.  In fact, these resolutions were inspired by my reading this morning.  John the Baptist told the people of Israel to repent, that means change their ways.  I am announcing how I am changing my ways right here with my New Year’s Resolutions. 

That’s it.  I’m going to try to change my ways, and I can’t do it alone.  Help me remember.  Bug me if you don’t see anything here on my blog each week.  I need you to be my prompters.  Thanks.

Just in time for Christmas, my newest novel is here and available on Amazon.  Don’t Kill the Opera is a story of Beth Cortel, wife, nursery school teacher, and writer, who shares an office with three other wacky writers.  Together trouble finds them, mysterious things happen, and those incidents end up in their writings.  A skunk leaves its mark on Beth and the local gossip mill has her streaking through the streets.  Honest, she didn’t do it! The ladies even manage to staple an intruder to the floor before the cops arrive.   When her marriage threatens to unravel, her new-found friends give her the support she needs to solve her problems.

So how did I get the idea for this novel? Two members of my critique group rented an office and that is where our group met.  There were some strange sounds in the building.  I had ideas of a story about the building and the things that were happening, and the group encouraged me to write it.  Of course I couldn’t use the actual people in the group or the actual location, so I made up a group of women, and a setting.  Twice a month I brought a new segment of what was happening in the fake critique group.  Each time I made up bigger and bigger tales about the women in the group, creating what is now the tale of Don’t Kill the Opera. (The women have decided that they like the fake people just fine.)

Now I just need to get the word out.  I am taking part in an author’s night this Friday, December 6th at the Lewis County Historical Museum from 4:00 – 7:00.  The book is also available on Amazon.  If you have read my other book, Crossing the Raging River, you may like this one too.  If you like any of my works, please take time to go to Amazon and put in a review.  Thank you all so much.  I couldn’t do this without you, my loyal fans. 

A funny thing happened on the way to writing my National November Novel.  I had everything ready including my idea of where the story was going.  And then something I had not planned on happened.  The cataract surgery that had been scheduled for December got moved up, to mid-November.  So, here I was, writing away at the pace it would take to get finished by the end of November, and suddenly I was out of commission for several days. 

I knew I would have some struggles to see while I was waiting for my second surgery, but no one told me how awkward it would be.  In the first place it took three or four days before I could see well at all.  Then when I could see, my eyes decided to fight and argue about which one was right. They couldn’t just send the two images to my brain and then expect the brain to take the best image and throw the other away. No, they took the two images and threw the good one away.  If it had not been easy to see before, it couldn’t be easy now.  I suddenly found myself typing by braille, well almost.  I’m seeing better although things are still awkward.  I reach for something and either miss it by two inches, or overshoot by two, knocking it over. 

At any rate, I got busy and kept writing even by braille.  The story I thought I was going to tell, wasn’t the one my characters decided to tell.  They hijacked the tale, making it much more exciting and relevant.  You see, we retired folk aren’t dead yet and we’re not ready to saddle up the rocking chairs at the old folks home and ride off into the sunset.  That group of misfits, like Major Cornball and Trixie, found something really useful to do and the rest, like Squeak, Lenny, Jocko, and Lucrecia joined in.  There are more too, and each one is an important contributor.  Here’s to wayward characters that have a story to tell.  They finished my novel by the 25th of November. Me?  I just wrote along for the ride. –

I’m a NANO Babe

What is NANO? Is it Neighboring Aliens Not Original?  Northwest Amateur Night Owls?  Or is it something else entirely.  

NANO is short for National Novel Writers November.  During that month thousands of writers will commit to writing a 50,000 word novel.  That means we have to each put 1,067– 2,000 words on the paper every day during November.  Now this isn’t really a complete novel.  Mine usually run about 75,000, but if I get 50,000 words, I won’t leave it.  My mind refuses to leave it.  In fact I have a hard time remembering that it isn’t reality, just my brain working on a puzzle.  That’s why I’m so crazy.

I have a sign on my office door that says:

Caution

Writer at work

Bystanders may be

Written into a story

That’s just exactly what is happening this year.  I’m writing people into the story that I have seen.  They will not be recognizable as such because their names, and circumstances will have been changed to protect the ridiculous.  Actually it is a fruit basket upset so that one person’s personality is with another person’s face and still another set of weird habits.  And then I threw a lot in also.  But the basic premise is the same. 

Novels don’t just come into being because I sit down at my computer.   Before November, just to get ready, I have chosen my topic, the general direction the novel is going, and I know a little about the characters.  The characters sometimes get a mind of their own and then I have to fight them to keep the story on track.  Remember, these are people I’ve seen lately, so if you’ve seen me recently, or know someone that has, beware.  If not, get to know my fun, crazified friends.  I’ve made them crazy, not that they are crazy to begin with.  For instance, there is the group photographer that carries his camera everywhere but takes all of his pictures with his phone.  He’s a producer of B movies.

Anyway, follow me here as I go through the writing process in November. By the end of the month I’ll have a good start to my novel.  I promise it will be worth it.

Halloween is almost here and I can share now the secret to having a great time while staying at home. It’s great entertainment, but it only lasts a year.

 First get out an old shirt and a pair of jeans and attach them at the waist, doesn’t matter with what.  Then stuff them.  Now take a balloon or soccer ball and put it inside of one leg of panty hose.  Attach this with a little extra length of nylon to the top of the shirt.  Use a rope of some sort and hang this dummy to the house with the extra rope fed in through a window.

Put a bowl of candy on the sidewalk for the kids to take if they want.  Put in one of those low-light colored bulbs for your porch light.  Turn the house lights off and watch for trick or treaters. 

When they leave the house next door, pull the rope a little so the dummy moves, and groan really loud.  They will either run really fast past your house or they will run the other way.

When the evening is over or you have been entertained enough, go out and retrieve the bowl of untouched candy, turn off the light and watch a movie at home. 

The reason I said this lasts only one year is that nobody will visit your house for Halloween for years to come.  They don’t like to be the dummy.

In case this isn’t spooky enough, here are two poems.

Off with his head

The Monster said.

Out with his guts

Take out his nuts

Cut out his eyes

We’ll make some pies

Or:

Set that pumpkin upside down.

Turn his smile into a frown.

Light the candle in his head.

Watch his insides burn bright red.

Leave him outside on the stoop,

Mold and mildew, fungal soup.

A Childlike View of the Functions of the Federal Government

Presidentures – Old man in charge of everything.  If he isn’t old when he starts this job, he will be when he finishes it, just from trying to get the people in the House of Cards and the Send Nate to get along and do things right.  My mom gets gray hairs when my brother and I don’t get along.  I think the Presidentures does too.  That’s why he is so old.

Underwear Secretary –Doesn’t want to be seen.  It’s embarrassing… but funny.  His friend, the guy in a suit keeps promising him to send him some more clothes, but so far that hasn’t happened.

Secretary of de Fence – Puts up fences around every country in the world.  It costs a lot of money.  He sends out Army Guys to do the real work.

Secretary of de Yard – Makes other countries mow their lawns.

Secretary of Schools –Tells people to make all kids alike by going to school.  The dumb kids have to get smarter and the smart kids have to get dumber so they can all be the same.

Secretary of Farmers – Does the paperwork so that the farmers can go riding around in their tractors

Washington Lobbyist – The guy that stands in the entry to the hotel and waits for you to come.  When you get there, he tries to tell you that you need a whole bunch of stuff you don’t.

House of Cards – Where a bunch of people in suits get together and argue.  They stack the deck against anyone that isn’t rich. Sometimes they don’t pay any attention to what the other people are saying and sometimes they don’t even go to the House of Cards.  They just want to sleep in or go play with the Lobbyist.

Send Nate – Not really a person, but lots of people that try to shoot arrows with notes on them at the House of Cards and try to knock it down. I think the notes tell the people in the House of Cards that no matter what they do the people shooting the arrows don’t like it.  Sometimes they also shoot arrows at the Presidentures Palace but he dodges the bullet.  That’s what Dad says.  Maybe he means the arrows.

Super Court – A bunch of old guys in black dresses that tell everyone else to knock it off.

The Cupboard – Where the Presidentures keeps his old people things.