I’ve been Alphabet Meme tagged by the funny and prolific crcook. She was kind enough to stick present me with the letter J.


10 wonderful J’s

1. Joplin (the resident lead fur person & official face licker)

  1. Jeans (well-worn and cozy)
  2. Jewelry (anywhere, anyhow, any time…think pearls, honey)
  3. Jellybeans (mmmm…buttered popcorn flavor)
  4. Journaling, jambalaya, and jackstraws (the last two because…well…just because)
  5. Joy (anywhere, anyhow, any time)
  6. Jammies (hey…it works)
  7. Jam (mmmm…seedless black raspberry)
  8. Jo in LITTLE WOMEN (I am not more like Amy! LA LA LA LA LA...)
  9. Journeys, junkets, or jaunts, oh my (sand and surf must be involved)


Five yucky J’s

  1. Jerks (anywhere, anyhow, any time)
  2. Jealousy (need I say more?)
  3. Jellyfish (not one of my favorite invertebrates)
  4. Jittery nerves (never EVER fun)
  5. Jack-in-the-boxes (some are just plain creepy)


I tag alwayslisa with A and breckinwood with B.


  • Current Music
    O Mio Babbino Caro - Puccini


Saturday’s mailbox dive produced a very nice personal from a very nice editor to send more.


Singing in shower resulted in pounding on door and the following from hubby: “Honey, do you have Julie Andrews in there?”

*cooks up devious payback* (Notice I said cooks. Muwhahahaha!)


Waxed floor + fuzzy socks = throbbing, crooked, plummy blue toe

*limps away*


(I think…maybe…I’m not making any promises here…uh…that I could be, might be, should be nearly over my Blog Avoidance Disorder.)
  • Current Music
    Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini – Variation No. 18


In typical rushing the season fashion, someone on TV mentioned how many shopping days until Christmas. I snorted and told my husband to hurry up with his list.


There hadn’t been a need for a list in the past. For twenty years L’s gifts to me had been impeccable. Well, there was the Wrinkle Cream Incident of 2002, but I'm almost over it. Last year, something happened. I don’t know if the Gift Gotcha Gnomes were working overtime or what, but the love of my life presented me with…wait for it…a soldering iron and an industrial-sized laser level with, and this is important, an adjustable tripod.


Hey, I thought I gave an award-winning performance which included lots of perky thank yous. I was certain he couldn’t hear the inside screams, but the shock must have shown through. It was decided we would exchange lists beginning this year.


Well, guess who came home with his list yesterday? This wasn’t just any ol’ handwritten on a torn sheet of paper list. It was done in Power Point with graphs to show items in order of importance. I’ll spare you the specifics, but I just have to share the disclaimer at the bottom.


“The above list represents wanted items, but is not necessarily all inclusive, nor is the purchase of all the items mandatory. A pre-shopping meeting will be necessary to set “gift number” limits in order to maintain a fair exchange thus creating an atmosphere of a Happy Holiday. Suggested retail prices may vary.”


Did I tell you I’m married to a funny guy?
  • Current Mood
    giggly giggly


Cooking has never been easy for me. Unless you count the time when my oven was out of commission for a few months (actually, a year and a half) and I didn’t miss it. 

My limitations showed up as a teen. My mother said frying an egg was easy. Just stick it in the pan over medium heat and flip it once. I did as I was told.

Nothing happened.

I hollered to tell her the egg wasn’t doing anything. She hollered back to turn up the heat. Which I did.

Nothing happened.

In my defense, she failed to tell me to crack the egg and pour it in the skillet.

You’d think I’d pay attention to the Off Limits sign, but I still get these moments where I wander into the kitchen to make real food. This time it was macaroni and cheese. Good ol’ creamy on the bottom, bubbly in the middle, and crackly brown on top mac’n cheese.

I found a recipe labeled easy, skipped off to the store to pick up cheese, and came back with the exuberance of someone who didn’t remember she was The Culinary Klutz. I won’t go into the preparation.
There will be nightmares. (For the record, fat free milk doesn’t create creaminess and hotdog buns are not a good substitute for bread crumbs.)

Two hours and a tower of dirty bowls, skillets, and pots later, I pulled the steaming stuff out of the oven. The crowds cheered. The taste-testers wept. And I promised to leave the cooking to people who think it’s easy.

It’s all yours, folks!


  • Current Music
    Coffee maker hum-hum-humming along.

Confessions of a Blog Slacker

The week started out like any other week. The flowers were shriveled. I watered them. The mutant tomatoes, straining from their containers, screamed we’re dry, you loser. I soaked them. The patio was dusty and leafy. I hosed it. And so…it rained.

I ignored the clouds repeating my tasks and marched inside, down the hall past the closed door of the bathroom on its fourth week of renovation (don’t ask), to the room where my computer awaited my commands. This was something I had total control over. I was going to write something profound, pithy, and publishable, and while I was at it, leave a witty word or two on my blog. 

But first, I checked my e-mail, thought about a revision I needed to finish, read LJ, started on a crit, thought about a revision I needed to finish, skimmed over unread posts at V’s, thought about a revision I needed to finish, made a dental appointment, and scolded the resident fur people about their latest lack of potty smarts and incessant shedding. My writing window remained open and blank.

The week is now kaplooey. Okay, perhaps profundity may have been too big of a reach for me, unlike the tomatoes that are threatening to climb over the fence line and escape by nightfall. I figure my best bet is to go for the witty word or two. 

So, here they are…frickle and slorpatchit.

My slacking is no more. In fact, I laugh in the face of slacking. I have a revision I need to finish, it's about to rain, and I have tomatoes to lasso.


  • Current Music


Memories of my childhood street are filled with sweet faces. The ones I climbed trees with, leaped off (lower voice and emphasize death or you won’t do it justice) The Wall of Death with, shared secrets with, explored the woods with, and skinned knees with, for what I thought was going to be forever. This morning, however, my thoughts skipped past the laughter, whispers, and war hoops over to another familiar cast of characters. My childhood street moms.

Come meet them.

Delicate Mrs. H who turned uh huh into a real art and clinched the title of World’s Longest Phone Chatter. Sleek-bunned Mrs. W and her stylish wave vrooming by in her silver land yacht on her way to teach ballet. Tan Mrs. D in her store-bought clothes swaying to the radio while snipping flowers in her garden. Muumuu-wearing Mrs. R who everyone gravitated to because of her bright flame and award-winning lemon meringue pie. Shiny white-haired Mrs. B who could finish a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle in two days and stop a bird with one swing of a broom. (Note: Said bird was only stunned and not harmed in this memory.) The other Mrs. B who was never spotted outside of her home, but met you at the door with a tray of the most amazing caramel popcorn balls every Halloween. Keeper of The Wall of Death (hope you said that right) and wearer of sparkly jewelry, Mrs. L with the tall red hair, who smelled like vanilla. Ditzy, but kind Mrs. P who always ran short on eggs, sugar, or soap and her sad-eyed Saint Bernard that left drool puddles on our front porch. There were more, but I guess I’ll end with old Mrs. T, the street’s snoop and card-carrying busybody who kept a permanent nose smudge on her living room window.

Fast forward to the present.

I’ve lived here on my grownup street for many years and sadly, I’m not sure I could even tell you the name of the people who live three houses up and over. If pressed, I might be able to tell you what color the cars are in some of the driveways. I do exchange a word or two with the family across the street that has been away on vacation. Today, I realized I missed them. I also noticed I hadn’t raised the shade behind my computer since they’ve been gone. GASP! I’ve been watching them live their life from out of my den window. Could this mean what I think it means? Am I the old Mrs. T of my grownup street? And what’s that mark on the glass?

Excuse me. I need to get the window cleaner.

  • Current Music


I recently told a friend I had lost my funny bone. I’m fairly certain it isn’t in the house. I’ve combed the place and the dust bunnies aren’t talking. I don’t know what has happened. Perhaps, it needed a break and it hurdled over the pasty lunar thing with that bovine fella. Sheesh. I need to get out more.

I like reading funny (as in haha…not as in upside down) and up until a few weeks ago I liked writing funny. It’s the weirdest thing, though. I’ve lost the ability to make words fasten together in any sort of chuckle-worthy order. See? You’re not even smiling right now, are you?

I adore most kinds of funny. I even like sight gags as long as they’re clever. Silly ala stooge isn't my thing and dirty turns my stomach, but show me a little dry wit and I’ll follow you anywhere. Speaking of which...I think my husband is about the funniest guy on the planet. At least, most of the time. (Note to DH: Funny is NOT squashing your face against the shower glass yesterday and scaring the skeebeehoosits out of me. Funny IS asking the grocery cashier if we have a large enough package of toilet paper based on the amount of food we are buying.)


To make matters worse, I’m revising my MG mystery and am having a tough time deciding whether the humor fits my character’s personality or whether it’s me lumbering through waving my wacky wand. How do you make that distinction? And what do you do when your witty flame burns low?


Oh, and if you happen to see my funny bone, send it home please. The morning is about to go POOF and I’m off to the shower. (Note to DH: The bathroom door will be locked.)

  • Current Mood
    okay okay


I thought I would share another cute story from my other sis.


SCENE: Nana and Pop are leaving after a long visit and it’s not going over very well with almost four-year-old A.


NANA:  But we have to go home.

A: (in between wails) Why?

NANA:  Because Pop has to go to work tomorrow.

A: (snuffle…snuffle) You stay…Pop go.

NANA: That might hurt Pop’s feelings.

A: (shakes head) Pop’s big boy. He says.

NANA: Pop would be very lonely.

A: (holds out arms) Pop take this.

(A. gives Nana her sacred blankie.) 

Now how does one refuse an offer like that?

  • Current Music
    Morning news. Fur people fighting over bones.


#1: A household appliance has gasped its last breath. This will trigger the demise of at least one, maybe two more appliances within the week


#2: The way to conjure up someone who you would prefer to impress is leave the house without makeup (for those who blush naturally, just insert “looking like Quasimodo”).


#3: Settle in to give a television program one more try due to the ravings of your friends and get ready to tune in to the one episode you’ve seen before.


#4: Stub a toe and live to tell the tale. Count on crunching, slamming, sliding, jamming it again into any object within crunching, slamming, sliding, jamming distance.


#5: The phone and doorbell are wired to ring when naked innocent soul steps into the shower. Rumor has it, the two are in cahoots with the CFC (the Commode Flusher Consortium).


#6: The one thing you decide NOT to pick up at the store is the ONE thing you will run out of and NEED the following week.


#7: It is not a myth. You own a rogue sock which must claim its freedom. Will it escape dirty or clean?


What are your givens?
  • Current Music
    More Than Words - Extreme


I’m sorry I haven’t responded to everyone’s blogs the last few days, but I’ve had more company. (I was on top of it, Dot, and disguised the sporks.)


Today is gray and soggy. A little too soggy. They’re calling for 3 to 4 inches in less than an hour this afternoon. This can’t be good.

So whilst the wet stuff slams against the windows I think I’ll jump back into revisions on THE NAME CHANGERS. Maybe I’ll work on one of the spooky scenes since I do have all this ambiance going for me right now.

But first…I must share something cute with you guys. These are the phone messages left at my sister’s (She and hubby are sound sleepers.) house from her granddaughter on her 6th birthday.


7:20 AM

GRANDDAUGHTER: “Good Mommy? Good Daddy? Cartoons are on. Hi!”



7:23 AM

GRANDDAUGHTER: “I forgot to tell you. It’s my birthday! I’m watching cartoons. Are you up? I’m six now.”



7:25 AM

GRANDDAUGHTER: “This is M, your granddaughter. Did you remember it’s my birthday? I’m six!”



7:27 AM

“HALLOOOOO? Can YOU hear me? I’ll hold on ‘til you get up.” (Several minutes of breathing pass and then a parental voice is heard “M? What are you doing? You’d better not be on the…”)



8:03 AM 
Good Mommy and Good Daddy call M. and they all live happily ever after.

  • Current Music
    Puddle Up For Me, Baby by R. U. Wet