Grace

There are two types of “grace”. 

There is the “grace” that is an action, i.e. bestowing grace (favor, relief, peace, honor, etc.) to someone for something, i.e. “Amazing Grace” or a grace period for credit cards.  Then there is “grace” that is a description of someone…and that “grace” can mean a character trait or an action adjective such as “She is so graceful.”, meaning how she dances or moves or walks. 

I may have the first type of “grace” when it comes to my soul, but when it comes to the second type of “grace”, I am sorely lacking.  Sorely being the key word there.  

I believe I have touched on some examples in my past blogs of just how graceful I am not.  Today is, sadly, just another example of that. 

I have to admit, I have set myself up for failure in my office as I have basically boxed myself in an office of many corners, in a room of many doors, and a floor full of many files.  Let me give you the lay out. 

My office is approximately 3 feet by 50 feet.  No…it’s really not, although it feels that way sometimes.  It is more like 7 feet by 16 feet.  My desk and adjoining wobbly computer desk made with balsa wood match sticks and aluminum foil takes up about 5 of the 7 feet in width of my office and the files that line the wall take up about a foot.  This, as I am sure you can count, leaves me with one foot of walking room.  I need more than one foot of walking room.  The bruises on my body would show that a wide berth is needed.  Even a hallway that is 4 feet wide isn’t enough for me to walk safely because no matter how much space I am given to traverse, I will trip, slip, bump, or knock something.  Now I am not a very large woman, probably about 2 feet wide at my shoulders, so technically I don’t need that much room to walk, but alas…I do.  

The files that line my floor are needed on a daily basis, so there they sit, against the wall, my own personal obstacle course.  A moving obstacle course of slippery file folders and sheets of paper.  It’s like Wipe Out – The Office Edition.  As you can see, I am doomed.  But this is not the tale for today’s telling, as today’s misadventure did not happen within the three foot torture radius of my office…today’s tale is much more my fault and less the obstacles around me.

I would like to say that my current wound was from doing something cool.  Like I was doing a backside tail grab out of a half pipe and my hub caught the rim and I wiped out causing me to thrash my left forearm.  But that would be a lie, awesome, but a lie nonetheless. 

In actuality my co-worker and I were outside on a break and somehow the song “I’m too sexy” by Right Said Fred came to mind and we were laughing and singing random lyrics.  The joviality moved from there to models and walking the catwalk.  Once back inside I thought I would be funny and “cat walk” into her office like the super models do during fashion shows.  Now, I am not a super model.  I am not even a mediocre model.  I am not a model at all.  I have only watched them stomp down the runway on television, never having actually done it myself.  But, come on, it’s walking with a purpose, can it really be that hard?  That, my dearest readers, is the question of the day.  I should have already known the answer to that, at least as it related to me.  But, once again…I did not.      

So there I trod, stomping through the hallway, making it through one door frame, past the fax machine and through her doorway only to SLAM my left forearm into the door handle of her door.  I slammed it so hard my first two fingers went numb instantly.  But, you would be happy to know that if I ever were to become a super model I would be able to finish my walk with style and flare because I did not stop after maiming myself, oh no, I did not!  I completed my runway walk, hip thrust, hair sling and pivot and stomped my happy butt right back out of her office.  It wasn’t until I was back into the hallway did I holler out in pain and look down at my arm, which had already started to swell.  She, my co-worker, was not laughing at my faux runway walk, um no, she was laughing at me and the apparent look on my face after smashing my arm on her door handle.  Because although I finished my walk, including the hip, flip and pivot, my face told an entirely different story. One of immense pain and distress.  And to her, that was the funniest of all.  

The moral of this story, clearly I cannot mock something and remain uninjured. 

Instant karma.

Mock not, my friends, or if you do, cover yourself with bubble wrap.

M.L.

Caroling and gingerbread

As a child I was “forced” to go caroling with my family and my church.  I never really got the full meaning of what we were doing or how much it touched the people’s lives we were singing to.  I just knew that at the end of it we always got hot chocolate and cookies.  The promise of a couple of extra cookies for a good job would always be the lure to get me to sing at the top of my lungs (even though I have never been able to carry a tune).  I remember the smiling faces of the “old” people that we would sing to and how those that weren’t smiling were staring off into space.  I sometimes wondered if they couldn’t hear us.

As I have grown into an adult I have been caroling many times with different church groups and to different locations, some homes, some assisted living facilities.  Each time I have gotten more of an appreciation of what we were doing.  Spreading the joy of Christmas and just spreading happiness.  Sometimes we would pass out candy canes or little trinkets, but most of the time it was just our voices and smiles and laughter that we gave. 

It wasn’t until last night that I truly understood what caroling was really about.  My Mom is seriously ill (which is why I haven’t been posting or writing often) and although she is on the up side right now (Yay!) she is homebound and needs assistance. 

We got a call from my sister-in-law who said “My friend wants to know if they can come carol tonight?”  My Mom said “Sure!” and so when I arrived from work we waited.  Mom was so excited knowing that someone was coming to her house to sing just for her.  I was indifferent and honestly, slightly annoyed because that meant it would be additional time that I would have to wait to help her prepare dinner and get her ready for her evening.  (Selfish and harsh I know, trust me, I have felt guilty and horrible about it ever since – which is why I am posting this as a confession).  So we opened the front door and Mom scooted her chair out enough so she could see around the corner to see when the headlights would appear in the drive.  I busied myself in the kitchen getting things out, putting things up, and waiting, while glancing at the clock every so often.  My anticipation was so very much different from hers.  She was waiting for joy; I was waiting for it to be over.  I was so very wrong.

I didn’t see the headlights but my Mom sure did.  She jumped up (well, as much as jumping up meant she grabbed her walker and pulled herself to her feet) and yelled to me, “They’re here, they’re here!”   I dried my hands and met her in the foyer and opened the door for her to shuffle out on the front porch.  People poured out of the church van and filed in front of the porch in a semi-circle.  The director introduced them as the First Baptist Church choir (which just so happened to be the church my Mom attends); she was so excited, even more so now, because she saw friendly faces that she knew.  Her friends had come to sing for her.  (as I write this tears fill my eyes at the memory of the smile that stretched across her face)  He puffed into a harmonica thingy to get the right key and they began with “Joy to the World.”  I couldn’t see many of their faces; honestly, they became a blur after a few minutes as tears filled my eyes as I watched them and Mom enjoy those moments together.  Every one of the carolers was beaming with joy and my Mom was practically glowing with happiness.  They sang “Silent Night” and “Away in a manger” and ended with “We wish you a Merry Christmas”.  Mom sang along with them and clapped and laughed while tears streamed down her face.  After it was over many of them came up and hugged Mom and exchanged well wishes and love.  Before they left they handed us a tin of cookies and began to file back to the van.  We stood there waving and smiling and crying until they were all inside the van and then quietly we went back inside and closed the door.

I shared a moment with my Mom that I will cherish for the rest of my life.  I witnessed firsthand the receiving end of caroling, and it is something that is beautiful and memorable.  The pure joy that she felt those few moments and long afterwards are in a word…priceless.

I don’t know how many of you have ever caroled in your life.  But if you haven’t, please do it once, no matter your beliefs or your faith.  Because the people who are on the receiving end are blessed more than you can imagine. 

On a side note...this past Sunday after church I came to visit my Mom and sit with her for a while and I brought with me a gingerbread house kit.  I have never put together a gingerbread house, although my Mom has put together several.  I thought, “How hard can this be, really…its cookies and icing.”  Well, let me tell you this, my fine readers, putting together a gingerbread house is H-A-R-D. 

As you all know I have OCD. (Lucky!) So the beginning of the gingerbread adventure started with me laying out all the pieces and putting each of the candies into little individual bowls.  I kneaded the icing and apparently I am Hot Hands McGhee because the icing turned to lava and nothing would/could stick to the gingerbread.    

So once everything was sorted and instructions were read and reread two more times, we began.  Step one: First squirt the icing into the preformed tray which would hold up the walls to the house.  Done…only it was lava icing and the walls kept falling over.  Hold the wall….hold the wall….hold the wall….squirt more icing…hold the wall…begin to get frustrated…hold the wall…glare at the smiling children’s faces on the box as they showed how easy it is…hold the wall…let go of the wall and watch it slowly fall over…stop caring…hand the icing to my Mom. 

We placed the icing bag into the refrigerator for a few minutes to let it cool off from my oven hands and began again (after I smoked to calm down my icing frayed nerves).  This time Mom held the icing and piped it and I held the walls together.  A much better plan.  The house was up, albeit, slightly tilting and lopsided and one of the walls is practically caved in, but standing.  Mission accomplished.  Now it was time to decorate.  Hanging candy gum drops vertically on icing is not as easy as one would assume.  Nor is it easy to keep the tiny little balls of candy (I still don’t know exactly what they are) from rolling around and popping off the tiny mounds of icing.  Let’s just say that my Mom, my quiet, eloquent, old fashioned, Mom, turned into a cursing sailor every time a piece of candy would pop off the house.  I laughed so hard I peed.

Our gingerbread man, the one who lives in our little crooked house, now has mittens and socks, because we couldn’t get the icing to come out in a pretty little piped stream like it was on the box, he also apparently has gas because half of his smile is drooping mid-toot.  He is missing a button, because it popped off and I don’t know where it went.  It’s probably buried under the globs of icing that fell on the preformed tray and is now permanently cemented to the plastic.  But he is standing and proudly displaying his lopsided house.  Although we had to prop him up with a gummy tree behind him, because Ole’ Hot Hands McGhee was in charge of the icing again by this point.  The gingerbread Christmas tree is also propped up by a smaller tree, and although it is decorated, some of its ornaments (those same mysterious little balls of candy) have disappeared as well.  The one decoration that turned out well was the icicles that hang from the eaves.  Ole’ Hot Hands McGhee was good for something!  Lava icing that drips and runs cools quickly once it’s out of the bag making excellent icicles. 

We sat back, two hours later, and admired our creation.  I can’t say it looks like children put it together, because the kids on the box clearly did a better job.  So, after a few minutes of critiquing we decided…cover it with snow (powdered sugar).  Problem solved.

(Oh, I forgot to mention, we cheated and used string to hold the walls up…it’s now permanently affixed due to the gobs of cement icing)

Here is the final result:

Merry Christmas everyone and remember, it’s the little moments, the ones filled with tears and laughter; those are the ones that you will cherish forever.  Peace and joy this Christmas and for 2013…if we survive the apocalypse tomorrow…blessings and happiness!

M.L.

 

Out of touch...

Hello my friends and fans. 

I'm sorry I've been out of touch, but I'm dealing with some personal issues and my writing and blogging has been put on the back burner.  But dont fret, I still think about my characters every day and jot down notes for both series ["A Matter of Time Series" and "Perfect Series" (yet to be released) ]  as well as funny scenarios for the blog all the time (if only I could find my handy dandy voice recorder...yes, thats right, its still M.I.A.)

I promise I will get "Perfect" (the first book in the "Perfect Series") published soon and hopefully soon to follow that will be "Flawed" (the second book of the same series), I am working on "Scarred" (the third) now...well not right now-now, as I said, I'm dealing with some personal things :-/, but I am over halfway finished.  Once I see where the "Perfect Series" is going (i.e. when its going to end - still havent dreamt the ending yet), I promise to all you "A Matter of Time Series" readers I will publish "Hours".  Just hang in there with me, I promise I havent forgotten about you guys, the blog or the books. 

And trust me, crazy stuff still happens to and around me every day, you just wait to see what blogs are yet to come.

Enjoy this Christmas season, spend time and cherish those you love. 
M.L.

Yet one more

Okay folks, I know I seem to blog about things that happen when I’m driving, but honestly, I drive a lot, therefore quite a few of my life’s experiences happen while driving.  So I feel compelled to share them with you.  Take them as funny anecdotes or serious foreboding warnings, either way, enjoy. 

The most recent I can only blame on me.  Well of course I’d like to blame it on something else, but alas, what happened afterward is solely on me.

I was driving (which is a given in this particular blog) along a long and slowly winding two lane road.  The sun had set but it was still light enough to see, although the shadows were creeping ever so slowly across the roadway and the evening haze had set in making everything moody and blurred.  I was admiring the autumn colors of the trees along the edge of the road and off into the distant on the hillsides.  I pondered the lack of bright reds and the abundance of vibrant yellows and wondered what trees had which colors.  I ponder a lot when I am driving. Some of it deep and philosophical like the meaning of my life, some of it mundane like grocery lists or errands to run, sometimes it’s story lines and characters (which can and has led to other events that have taken place while driving when I tried to write down notes and drive at the same time – hence the purchase of my handy dandy voice recorder – which on a side note, I can’t find.  Where is my OCD when I need it?)  and some of my ponderings are neither deep nor mundane, but just my mind spinning and spinning and landing on various things, such as the color of the leaves. 

So there I was, bee-bopping along to my Alex Clare CD (thank you, sis!!) singing to the top of my lungs, musing about the trees when all of the sudden I saw something move across the road.  I slowed down, dropping my speed and waited to see what it was.  I scanned along the side of the road looking for a furry face or shine back of eyes, nothing.  Then something skittered across the road again!  I slowed even more.  Thank goodness I was alone on this road or whoever was behind me would have been slowly getting annoyed by now.  Although it was dusk and it was getting harder to see in the hazy evening light, I knew that something was definitely moving across the road.  I am sure by now you have used your excellent powers of deduction and know what is moving on the road, but sadly, it hadn’t occurred to me by this point as I was driving.  It would take a few more moments before I would come to realize what it was.

I slowed even more because these creatures kept skittering across the road, over and over again.  Was it a massive migration of frogs?  Was a tiny flock of miniature birds hopping across the road?  Then nothing.  All movement stopped.  I crept forward a little more and when nothing moved I sped back up to the normal 55 miles per hour.  As I came closer to the area where the creatures had made their voyage across the road I lifted my foot off the gas, just in case, and glanced from side to side looking for any movement.  Then suddenly in front of my car, mere feet ahead of me, something flipped up and flew at my windshield.  I screamed and slammed on my brakes.  Once again, thank goodness that no one was behind me, or this tale would end quite differently. 

 

When I pried my eyes open, relaxed my shoulders and the white knuckle death grip on the steering wheel (all in a span of about 2 seconds) I realized that nothing had shattered my windshield and I had not ran into anything, I then saw what had jumped up and attacked my car. 

A leaf.

Yes, my fine readers, I was attacked by a leaf.  A yellow one to be exact. And the tiny fluttering creatures across the road?  Leaves.  Leaves being blown by the breeze.  Of course it was leaves! There was no migration of frogs or skittering birds.  Why would I even think that? 

Now you can’t hear the cynicism in my voice or the sarcasm as I write this, but know that it is dripping from every typed word.  I, yes, I, M.L., screamed and was scared by a leaf.  A jumping leaf, mind you, but a leaf nonetheless.

So that is why I said that I am the only one to blame in this tale.  I blame myself for having too active of an imagination to think that l-e-a-v-e-s where anything but.  I blame myself for not paying enough attention to the road because I am paying too much attention to the l-e-a-v-e-s still in the trees. 

Of course some of you, and you know who you are, will say that there is a simple solution to all of this.  Glasses.

Watch out for jumping leaves, (and don’t drive behind me at dusk)

M.L.

Seriously? Who does that?

Today whilst driving to work I was in front of a tan van that was speeding up and slowing down and speeding up and slowing down.  When she, yes, it was a female, was speeding up, she would ride my bumper so close I could see the bugs screaming as they held on to her grill for dear life and then she would drop back ten car lengths instantly becoming a tan blur in my rearview.  I have to say, it’s very unnerving, especially through a construction zone, where the sides are line with large orange barrels, flashing lights and metal signs that say “shoulder drop off”.  And let me also say, it isn’t a slight, sloping drop off, oh no, it’s a 4 foot drop off in some places where they (the construction folks) have shaved the road down to its sub crust and you can feel the heat of the molten lava flowing underground. Needless to say, it’s a tight squeeze through there. I feel like a watermelon going through a hose pipe.

 

Well, I noticed when my fellow female driver would drop back, she would skirt the barrels, precariously skirt them.  Then, all of a sudden, BAM she hit one sending it flying off into the blue, and then BAM she hit another one that went sailing as well.  Then she swerved ridiculously into the middle of the two lanes causing the car next to her swerve dangerously into the barrels on the other side, until she righted herself back into her (our) lane. 

Did she stop? No.  Did she wave an apology to anyone? No.  Did she change lanes into the slow lane? No. Instead, and this is a jaw dropper, she did it AGAIN!  BAM, BAM! Knocking orange barrels into the wild blue yonder.  Over and over again. Pieces of her car were flying off; I even saw the lens of her head lamp come off at one point, and she didn’t stop!  Who doesn’t stop for that?  Seriously?  Because I know that all the pieces of my car are on my car for a reason.  The Chevrolet manufacturer thought it best to put these parts and pieces on my vehicle and they were on my car when I bought it, so I assume that they are supposed remain on my car and not knocked off at any point in time and if so, I should probably be concerned about it.

Now, my beloved readers, I didn’t know if she had an exceptionally high hatred for orange barrels and was on a mission to wage war with them (while singing to herself the Heywood Banks, ‘Orange Barrel’ song), or if the orange barrels were covertly slipping out in front of her tan van, which is doubtful as they appeared to be minding their own business as I drove by, but it was very clear that if you were behind her or somewhere in the construction area, your life was in danger of being taken out by a large, plastic, orange and white missile filled with sand.   

I sped up as best I could to get away from this maniac, barrel hater only for her to fly past me in the other lane once we got clear of the construction area.  As she passed I gaped at her trying to see if perhaps she was having an epileptic fit, or going into a diabetic coma, but no, there was no medical explanation.  Instead, what did I find her doing?  She was eating breakfast.  Seriously?

I have never been as humiliated as a fellow female driver as I was at that moment. 

But my main questions are as follows:

1.      How into her food was she that she could not eat and drive at the same time?  Was she making her breakfast as she was driving?  Was there a hot plate plugged into the cigarette lighter? Was her Mickey D’s sausage biscuit so awesome that she couldn’t focus on driving the almost 2 tons of metal down the road at 60 miles an hour? (FYI-I Googled it.  A minivan weighs approximately 3,955 pounds.)

2.      How did she not hear that she was slamming repeatedly into large, vibrantly colored barrels?  How could she not SEE the barrels?

3.      How did she not notice that PIECES OF HER CAR WERE FLYING OFF?

Dear readers, if you find yourself corralled in a hose pipe whilst driving a watermelon and you notice a 2 ton tan B-52 behind you shooting orange and white plastic missiles, might I suggest getting off at the next exit. 

Drive safe and for the love of all that is Holy, stop cooking breakfast as you are driving,

M.L.

P.S.  Clearly I spend too much time on the interstate. J

Spookie Ookie Time

Yep, that’s right kiddies, its Halloween time.  Woot Woot!  My most favorite holiday.  Not that I do not love, love, love Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter, even Independence Day is awesome.  But as far as random holidays where I get candy, go to parties and get to dress up as something that I am not (like a doctor, scarecrow, cat, gypsy, Grim Reaper, dog, Mother Earth, etc.) it’s the greatest holiday, ever. 

I know all the history (real and supposed) behind Halloween, All Hallows Eve.  The day before All Hallows Day (Day of the Saints) or the pagan day of Samhain.  But here in the good ole’ U.S. of A. for most of us it is just a day with no spiritual/religious/significant meaning behind it and a day for us to gorge on candy, dress up as ghouls, ghosties, or princesses and an excuse to watch endless horror movies (Not that I have to have a reason to watch endless horror movies) and scare little kids and/or ourselves. 

My Godson, at the ripe ole’ age of 11, went to his first haunted woods last weekend, and he chose me to be the one to go with him. (An honor I did not take lightly.)  He ROCKED IT OUT! I am so proud.  He walked tall through the woods in the dark with the strobe lights and the creepy noises.  He only flinched a few times when someone jumped out for a scare and was polite to the monsters by saying “excuse me” when they were up in his face.  He continuously assured me that he was “okay” as we made our way down the unlighted, twisting paths.  How bad is this that I had to beg him to hold my hand a few times? HA! What a great kid. Love that lil’ dude. He has come into the fold with the rest of us insane people who like to be scared.  Not scared with real things like illness, financial troubles, death of loved ones, etc. but being scared for no reason, senseless scaring.  The kind of scare that you can laugh about later, those are the best scares. 

As you can tell, I love Halloween.  It’s the kick off to the holiday season.  The second October 1^st hits it’s a downhill slide straight to Christmas and New Years, and what a fun slide it is.  Feasting, parties, time with family and friends. The fun, crazy, scary, hoopla holiday where nothing matters and everything goes (as far as costumes and eating of many (way too many) candies – mostly candy corn and M&Ms for me).  The holiday before the real ones, the ones that have meaning behind them, like Thanksgiving, where we give thanks for all the blessings we have and Christmas where we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, or New Years where we celebrate another year of life and wish for a greater year the next.  Halloween is just fun.

Speaking of fun, I saw a costume idea for a flip flop.  Yes, that’s right, a flip flop.  My question is how do they sit down?

Whatever you go as this year, or whether or not you dress up at all, enjoy this time when the trees are changing their clothes into their bright fall wardrobe.   When the night is crisp and cool and you have to bundle up with a hoodie or snuggle up with a loved one.  When the smells of bonfires fill the air and marshmallows are toasted and squished out on graham crackers leaving sticky fingers for all. Fill your weekends with hay rides, weenie roasts and midnight walks through the dry fallen leaves in the woods.  Have a scare this Halloween and when you are bent over trying to catch your breath and clinching your knees together to hold in the pee, have a laugh.  Just don’t laugh too hard, you are trying to hold your pee in after all.

Boo!
M.L.

At the movies

We all do it, quote lines from movies.  If you say that you don’t you have either never seen a movie, or you are lying. Even my 72 year old mother quotes movies.  Granted I may not get the reference because they are from movies that she saw before I was born, but she still does it. 

Yesterday while flipping through the channels on television I came across a movie I had not seen.  Well, the remake of a movie.  I had seen the original many years ago, but this new one I hadn’t.  It was the movie “Arthur” with Russell Brand.  I didn’t watch all of it, actually probably only twenty minutes or so, but then he said a line that I will probably use, although I don’t know when, from now on just because it was so awesome. (to me at least)

It’s the scene where he and his true love (I don’t remember her name) are in Grand Central Station, sitting at a table amongst a sea of rose petals and the waiter lifts the platter lid to reveal a mound of PEZ candy and two PEZ dispensers.  His true love plucks the dispensers from the mound of candy and remarks how one looks like her and one looks like him.  She hands him the dispenser that looks like her and as he takes it he says, “I knew from the moment I saw you that I wanted to eat candy bricks from your neck hole.”   In context that was very a very funny and very cute statement.  Out of context that would be extremely weird.  People would look at you strangely.  There might even be a quiet murmuring amongst them.  It’s the quiet murmurings you have to worry about.

Here is a list of my favorite quotes that I use often:  (of course, as you say these, you HAVE to say them with the same fluctuation and pentameter as the person who originally said it.)

“I can’t see it!” – Star Wars, Episode IV, A New Hope

“Aw, dang!”  - Mystery Men

“It puts the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again.” – Silence of the Lambs

“Run Forrest, Run!” – Forrest Gump

“My Precious” – Lord of the Rings

“Pancake!” – Cabin Fever

“Hey! Hey! Her head don’t come off!” – Labyrinth

“We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad…You must be. Or you wouldn’t have come here.” – Alice in Wonderland

“He died.” – Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium

“I’ll never tell.” – Don’t Say a Word

Those are just a few of the cornucopia of quotes that ramble around in my head.  You’re probably wondering in what situation would I actually use some of them…let me guess…the one from Silence of the Lambs.  Ah, yes, a dark scene indeed for someone to use that line in their daily lives.  Just so you know I am not a serial killer who wears the skin of their victims.  But, sometimes lines like that just fit, because out of context they are benign, sometimes even funny.  A ton of people have seen Silence of the Lambs (one of my favorite movies) and at least three fourths of the people who watched it remember that scene when he says that and the creepiness that chilled us.  And to say it when someone is sitting at their desk and lotioning their hands, an act that most everyone does at some point, is funny.  Or maybe it’s just funny to me and my friends, because we are weird like that. 

I have always found a way to work in the most random movie quote to a situation, most of the time getting laughs, or at least a few strange looks, a quirked brow and perhaps even a quiet murmuring.  I look forward to the day where I can actually say my new “Arthur” quote about candy bricks and neck holes.  Although I honestly can’t tell you when I will be eating PEZ or when I will be eating it out someone’s neck, much less eating anything out of someone’s neck.  Ew.   

Welcome to the mind of M.L.

Enjoy,

M.L.

A Plumber I am not.

Last Tuesday, I think it was a Tuesday; it’s really all hazy now.  I discovered that my toilet was leaking from the tank. A steady, yet slow drip…drip…drip…drip…drip…Yay. 

I decide that I am smart enough to repair it myself.  After getting explicit instructions from a friend on how to take out the ‘Fill Valve’, which is what he deemed was the problem and what to buy to replace it, and even a diagram that he drew for me, with tiny arrows pointing to various important parts in the tank, I went to the giant box store and purchased the appropriate accoutrements to repair the toilet!!  Hazzah!

On the way home I reveled in how easy this should be.  Even the box that the replacement ‘Fill Valve’ came in told me how easy it would be.  Fifteen minute installation, No tools required!!  How simple!  I am sure you can tell where this is going, but wait for it…

When I came home my OCD kicked in and I took everything out of the box, laid it out piece by piece on a tray and placed it delicately on the bathroom floor.  Took the lid off the tank and even flushed the toilet a couple of times to watch how it worked so I could “get the feel of it”.  Took the instructions, which were not very long, after all it installed in less than fifteen minutes with no tools required, went outside, sat on the porch and smoked a cigarette while I read them twice. 

1.      First step, turn off water supply and drain tank by flushing. 

I located the water supply valve and discovered that it was rusted.  Clearly no one has needed to work on this toilet for quite some time.  I soaked it in WD40 and continued to read the instructions, even glancing at the Spanish version. (not that I speak Spanish.)  After letting it soak in I tried again, only to find that it was firmly lodged and would not budge.  My solution?  A hammer and a screwdriver, as they are my go to tools. 

After strategic placement of the screwdriver and a few taps of the hammer, a rain of rust flakes and another attempt…nothing.  Frustration was nipping at my heels.  Which was sad really, because I hadn’t even completed step 1 yet and I was already getting annoyed.  No tools required…my butt. 

Leftie Looseie, Righty tightie…right?  Well, when what you are trying to looseie or tightie is facing the opposite direction, and you are hugging a toilet that is in a corner and you can’t actually see what you are doing, AND you already have difficulty knowing your left from your right, a pickle you might find yourself in. 

I went outside to smoke.

Second attempt, grab a jar opener.  You know those rubber things that you use for pickles?  The same pickle I would come to find myself in soon enough?  I gripped the valve with all my might, leftie looseie, leftie looseie, LEFTIE LOOSEIE!  Alas, no leftie and definitely no looseie.  I slumped on the toilet exhausted and had a hand cramp. 

I went outside to smoke.

Third attempt, pray, another tap with the hammer and screwdriver and…..leftie looseie, leftie looseie, LEFTIE LOOSEIE!  Nothing.  On a lark I tried the other direction and guess what…that’s right…it turned.  Seriously?  Clearly leftie looseie was the other direction.

Now for the second part of step 1.  Flush the toilet.  That was easy.  I watched the water drain from the tank, the previous hour’s frustration quickly washing down the pipes along with the water that was draining.  I was doing it!  I was fixing my toilet!

The tank didn’t drain completely.  Well crap.  Consult the instructions, “Oh! This could happen, use a sponge or cup to remove the rest of the water in the tank.”  Easy enough.  Paper towels and a cup.  Scoop, dump, scoop, dump, scoop, dump a hundred times.  Why wasn’t this water going down any?  Actually it looked like it was rising slowly.  What?  Consult the instructions, no guidance this time.  Okay, decision time.  Do I keep scooping and dumping for the rest of my life or do I put a bucket under the tank and just proceed to step 2.  Bucket and step 2.  

2.      Second Step, remove the old 'Fill Valve'.  Disclaimer: There is a reason that the tank is supposed to be empty when you begin step two.  A very large and wet reason.  Let me now introduce you to the pickle.

I shoved a bucket behind the toilet and proceeded to unscrew the 'Fill Valve' from inside the tank.  The water, that to me only looked an inch deep, gushed out from the loosened hose.  Now, let me say this.  Granted the water looked only an inch deep…I, not being a math whiz, didn’t account for the fact that it was an inch of water across the entire bottom of the tank.  Meaning it was probably, oh, I don’t know for certain, but close to a gallon of water.  Quickly I tried to unscrew the supply hose from the 'Fill Valve', but it wouldn’t budge.  It wouldn’t turn, it wouldn’t move at all, meanwhile water continued to pour out.  Okay, you are probably thinking, “What’s the big deal?  There’s a bucket there.”  Well…you would be correct, there was a bucket there, but the bucket was only catching a third of the water because the rest of it was traveling down the outside of the hose and pouring across my bathroom floor.  Keep going I told myself, keep going.  Soon I feared I would be quoting Dori from the Nemo movie, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming."

I retrieved the other two tools I own, a pair of needle nose pliers and an adjustable wrench.  Both too small.  Water continued to ooze across my bathroom floor and pool around my knees. 

3.      Third Step.  I sat up a towel barricade and I went outside to smoke.

4.      Continuation of Third Step. Walk across the street to my neighbor’s to ask them to borrow some tools.  No one is home.  I went back in and rung out the towels and replaced them on the floor, just trying to keep the water from going on the carpet.  I used every single towel I had in my house, including the dish towels and the fancy pretty “guest” towels that no one is allowed to touch and oddly, even my guests don’t use them. 

5.      Extended continuation of Third Step.  Go to my next door neighbor to see if they are home and borrow tools.  They were not.  It felt like the world had ended and I was left with a flooded bathroom. 

6.      Final Step.  Called my brother and cried. 

7.      Three hours later my blessed brother and his wife come to the rescue.  I had soaked up and dumped out enough water to keep my lawn alive through any drought.  He strolled in, and very seriously unrolled a tool belt that contained just six tools.  I paced in the hallway and kitchen like an expectant parent as he set to work.  Ten minutes later he walked out with a wide pride-filled grin.  "It's a Toilet!", he exclaimed.  No, not really, although he was grinning when he came out, but all the said was "It's fixed." 

Moral of this story, I am not a plumber and I should leave it to the professionals, or at least someone with the right set of tools. 

Second moral of this story, I need a good set of tools.

Third moral of this story, I need a good set of tools and someone to show me how to use them; otherwise they will just get thrown across the room in a fit of frustrated rage. 

Take this piece of advice my dear Readers, do not rely on the back of a box to tell you how simple something is to fix and if it says no tools required, it’s a lie. 

M.L. 

P.S.  I tried to be a plumber once before when I installed my kitchen faucet, I should have learned my lesson then.  But alas, I am sure I will try to repair something else some day.  After all, what’s the point of owning a house if you can’t destroy it while you are trying to fix it? 

Smear and friends

Earlier this week whilst sitting in rush hour traffic, which I do, daily, I looked to my right at the car sitting next to me on the passenger side, which I do, daily.  Because frankly, I like to know if someone crazy is sitting next to me behind the wheel of a tens of thousands pound vehicle.  I want to know my options,  you know? 

Anyway, whilst glancing at my surroundings my eyes refocused to a smear on my passenger window.  About 4 inches long, 2 and a half inches wide, smear.  I shrugged, thinking perhaps someone leaned against my car and made myself a mental note to remember to get it off later.  Which I promptly forgot approximately 30 seconds later, as I have the memory of a goldfish. 

Flash forward a day or two.  I was once again sitting in rush hour traffic, which I do, daily, and once again I looked to my right at the car sitting next to me on the passenger side, which as I said before, I do, daily.  I noticed the smear and grimaced when I remembered that I had forgotten to wipe that off.  Then I noticed that it had a friend.  This one was longer and thinner.  About 6 inches and 2 inches wide and was running diagonal in the middle of the window.  “Well, well, well,” I thought, “Hello there, where did you come from?”  I made another mental note to wipe them both off and repeated it a few times coaxing my brain to retain the wiping command and then promptly forgot about it 30 seconds later. 

Skip ahead to yesterday.  I was once again sitting in rush hour traffic, which I do, daily, and I once again looked to my right at the car next to me on the passenger side (a handsome fellow in a red jeep with a bike rack on the back, ‘Hello’ to you.), which as I have said now, already two times, I do, daily.  And low and behold there was a third smear on my window.  This one ran the entire length of the window from top seal to bottom seal and was about an inch wide.  “Seriously?” I exclaimed.  “Who is using my car as a napkin?” I frowned and made a mental note to clean them off when I got home.  Which I promptly forgot 30 seconds later.

Fast forward about 3 hours yesterday evening, while I was watering the flowers outside on my patio and I looked over to my car and thought to myself, “Man, I need to wash my car.” Then it hit me, the smears!  I went inside immediately and gathered the Windex and a handful of paper towels (because clearly I have to do things when I think of them otherwise they will never get done) and proceeded to wash the smears from my passenger side window only to find that they wouldn’t come off.  Thinking whomever it was that wiped their grubby paws on my window must have been eating deep fried something, or the alternative they themselves were deep fried in something, I scrubbed harder.  Still, nothing, nada.  They smears remained.  “For the love!” I cried as a sweat rose on my brow from scrubbing the window. (My passenger side window is extremely clean now by the way.)  I opened the car door and sat down exasperated.  I stared at the window and contemplated what I could use to remove the heinous marks, and while I contemplated I decided to wash the inside of the window as well, I mean, come on, why not, I was sitting right there.  Spray-spray-spray, big wipe…smear number one disappeared.  “WHAT!”  “Are you telling me these smears are on the inside?!”  Sure enough, a few wipes later, the window was clean, inside and out and totally smear-less. 

Here is what I want to know.  Who has been in my car?  I sit in the driver’s seat.  Because as I made reference to several times before, I am stuck in rush hour traffic, daily, and trust me I am not sitting in the passenger seat when I drive.  I cannot reach the passenger side window, or door for that matter unless I unbuckle and stretch across the middle console.  No one else has been in my car for at least three weeks.  Well, that I know of.  Clearly I am mistaken.  Someone must sit in my car when I am not in it and that my friends, is a problem.  What else are they wiping and where?  And how are they getting in my car in the first place?  It is locked all the time, even when I am in it! 

Is someone hiding under my back seat like they do when they smuggle people in from other countries?  I sure hope not, but that would explain where the food goes that I have accidently dropped over the years.  I never can find the French fry or Cheerio once it bounces from my leg and onto the floor.  Have I been feeding and harboring someone who lives off of fries and cereal?  And if not…how and what are these mystery daubs? 

If so, they need to chip in on the gas, and perhaps tidy up a bit. 

If you see someone in my car and it isn’t me, let me know, and give them a napkin.

M.L.

The Good, The Bad and The Inspired

The Good:

I have officially written and self-published my very first book ever.  EVER!  I wrote a book!  A BOOK!  Can you believe it?  I can’t sometimes. 

Who would have thought that a girl from a poe-dunk little town in Tennessee would write a book, much less three of them with two more started.  I only know one other person, personally, that has ever written and published a book and his was a trivia book.  How many people do you know that have written a book.  How many have you written? 

I wrote a book.  An actual book.  B-O-O-K. 

Up until this point I haven’t sat down and been proud of myself.  I have been too worried about what people will think, what they have thought, the process (which is confusing as all get out and if it wouldn’t have been for my sister and my new friend, Tirzah I would have lit a match and said to heck with the whole process a long time ago). 

I haven’t actually stopped and taken a moment to say, “Wow!  M. you typed a book.  You dreamed, created and typed a book. Several actually.” 

I was blessed by God with some pretty cool talents.  I can, if forced, play the piano (although it would be super slow now since I haven’t in over 15 years and although I still remember F-A-C-E and E-G-B-D-F, I would have to say the rhyme each time I went to stroke a key).  I can draw and paint (although I am no Salvador Dali – whose paintings rock).  I can remember stupid trivia, like bats, when exiting a cave, almost always turn left.  I can cross all four of my fingers on both hands, and do the Vulcan sign for “Live long and prosper.”  I have the bladder of steel which comes in handy for long road trips (it’s mainly out of necessity though, as I will NOT go outside, nor do I prefer public bathrooms, but will use one in a crisis.)  And now I can add dream, create and write books to my list of awesome talents.    

That’s pretty freakin’ cool. 

The Bad:

So…I have gotten two “not so great” reviews on the book Moments. 

There is that.  

Of course, I have only gotten three reviews total, at least on Amazon.

My friends and loved ones who have read it all have made glowing remarks.  Of course, I know to take that with a grain of salt, as they are my friends and loved ones.  I know they read it through “love glasses”.  But, I am of the school that if you don’t have something nice to say, you don’t say anything at all.  So, I would say that since I have not asked anyone what they thought of it, and they just offered up their comments freely, I would like to believe that they actually liked it.  That is what I would like to believe.  I know that isn’t always the case though. 

I also am not naïve enough to believe that Moments is perfect.  (no pun intended to those who know me and what I am referring to.)  I know that it has typos, although for the life of me I cannot find them, because I typed it in Word and it has spell and grammar check.  Other than several sentence fragments, I couldn’t find anything else.  So perhaps there are different rules to writing for books then there is in the actual English language. *shrugs*  And I believe that there may be tense issues (I was informed of this in one of the “not so great” reviews).  When I started Moments I wrote the entire thing in present tense, only to be told that it should be in past tense, so I redid the entire thing in past tense.  I am certain I missed some. 

Three sets of eyes proof read Moments.  None of them editors, none of them actual professional proof readers, but all three of them is learned, educated people.  One having already proof read a couple of books for another author.  How in the world could three different people miss the tremendous amount typos that two of my totally disappointed (albeit much appreciated) readers found? 

(Case in point…the third sentence above about the proof readers being learned and educated, I typed “...all three of them ARE learned, educated people.”  Word informed me that it is supposed to be IS and that, honestly, sounds stupid to me, but I changed it because I am not a machine programmed to know perfect grammar, so I have to trust it, as well as my precious proof readers.)

When I type here, on this blog, I am just typing what comes in my head.  I barely even proof read this because this is just a stream of consciousness that I tweak so that I don’t sound completely insane, and so that it has a funny twist on it.  So please, do not pick apart my blog, like you do my books. 

I have never written anything before other than essays for school.  I am not a writer, well…I am, but not in the sense that I went to school and have a degree in something literary sounding and have a whole slew of letters after my name showing how important I am. Nor have I been published anywhere in a magazine or newspaper.  I am just a paralegal.  (Which on a side note, I use the same program to type pleadings that go before a Court of Law and Judges, and not one has ever come back with grammar issues.  One might think that if it can stand up in Court, it should be good enough somewhere else.  And I am typing in Latin sometimes! – this is all a tad bitter sounding, I know…I will get to the inspired part shortly, hang in there.) 

I have also read books that are in a series, many of them.  And most every single one, when the first book “ends” it isn’t an actual ending, it is a “Hey, you gotta get the next book to see what happens to so-in-so.”  So I am left anxiously awaiting the release of the next book.  And being named “A Moment in Time Series” shouldn’t that be enough of a heads up that there are other books to follow?  When did books in a series that end in “cliff hangers” become against the rules?  

I am also an avid reader.  I know that a reader, a writer doth not make, but I have the general idea of how books are written, and frankly I see books written in so many different styles, tenses, with/without mistakes, etc. that I don’t think there are any rules.  Example: Shortly after rewriting Moments in past tense my sister got me to read The Hunger Games, a book written totally in first person, present tense. *Gasp* THE HORROR!  A book going against all the rules!   And yet it is a top seller, already has a movie, and has sold in the boo-gillions.   

If there are no rules, then how am I breaking so many of them? 

The Inspired:

Am I going to stop writing?  Well, no.  But I may feel like giving up on a weekly basis sometimes. 

Am I going to let people’s opinions hurt me?  Well, probably, at least for a day or two. 

Am I going to be thankful to each person who reads my book, even if they give me “not so great” reviews or even perhaps a horrible review?  Definitely yes.  I appreciate everything single person who reads my books, I truly do.  I also appreciate their remarks (when they aren’t nasty) and I utterly respect their opinions. (I might not, though, for a day or two because I will be mumbling under my breath about, “They don’t know me! Why they gotta be so mean?”  I might even shed a tear.)

Am I going to use their remarks to learn and grow in this experience?  Certainly.

Am I going to be thankful for this gift and opportunity to share with people?  Of course. 

Am I going to listen to my sister’s encouragement?  I will listen, but I don’t always hear her.  I will work on that. 

Thank you all, and to all of you who just stumbled across my blog, come on in, mill about and I hope you stay a while.

M.L.

P.S.  If there are rules for writing that are different from the English language, someone, for the love of all that is Holy, please let me know!  J

Knick Knacks Patty Wacks

Hello friends -

I want to first thank each of you for a) following my blog and b) reading "Moments".  If you haven't read "Moments", I forgive you, and you still have plenty of time.

I wanted to let you all know that I am writing a second series now.  The first book being titled "Perfect" and the second titled "Flawed", and I haven't titled the third book yet.   This series is more action/thriller, with a touch, a tiny, itty-bitty touch of romance, whereas "Moments" is more all romance with a little adventure. 

I find it funny that my first book written and published was a romance, seeing that I am not a huge fan of romances.  I'll watch them, but as I said before, I would much rather survive a horror movie then be saddened by a romantic comedy.  Although a few have slipped in under the radar and I actually like them...i.e. "Fifty First Dates"  love that movie.  And of course, any movie set in Ireland automatically becomes a watcher, as I long to be in Ireland.  So, "P.S. I love you" slipped in too.

"Moments" is my baby.  My very first one, so I love it tremendously.  But "Perfect" and the books thereafter are more 'me'.  "Perfect" is more my style.  I can take the romance if you smother it with action/thriller/horror.  HA!   Makes me wonder where my head was when I wrote a romance. 

Enough about romances...lets turn our attention to "Perfect"....

A blurb:

Amelia has a good life, young, pretty, married to the love of her life, Bass (like the fish).  Everything is going according to plan, she an editor at a publishing company and him an award winning actor; that is until the shadows start moving. 

Keith, who is perfect in every way, lures Amelia into his world by taking those she loves.  First he takes Jared, Bass' best friend, and then he takes Tommy, her brother.  It is then that she realizes Keith's perfection is only skin deep, and what lies beneath is much darker than any shadow.   

Amelia finds herself thrown into a world that she never knew existed and the knowledge of a creature that shouldn't exist. 

So there you have it friends.  That is "Perfect"   I hope that you are intrigued.  Hopefully it will be available in the next month or so.  Tirzah is working on my cover now, and she is ROCKING IT, and then one last set of proof-reading eyes have to look it over and it will be ready.   

I am almost finished writing "Flawed", then when goes through proof-reading, and I will continue with the third untitled book to this series.   One of these days I promise you I will get "Hours" published (the second one to "Moments") 

I hope you guys are enjoying the summer, and taking the time to sit in the shade.
M.L.

Moments

Hey guys!

It has come to my attention that there may be typos and tense errors in Moments.  If you find them, please, please, please let me know.  I would like to correct them and reload the book.

I had three other people read Moments and apparently we missed some things.  I apologize for that, and hopefully I will be able to correct them.  But in order to do that, I need to know where they are.  That is where you guys come in.  I have read it so many times I barely see the words any more, and I would surely miss them again.

Further, I wanted to clarify somethings about Moments.  It's a romance more than it is an adventure.  Perhaps I need to change that on the book description...the 'adventure' part.  Although I thought that going through a vent and ending up in another time was kind of an adventure, but perhaps there is a better word for it?  Especially since they dont stay in the other time for very long.

Your thoughts? 

Thanks for patiently going through the publishing of my first book with me.
M.L.

Moments is up on Amazon Kindle!!

http://www.amazon.com/Moments-Matter-Time-Series-ebook/dp/B0080V27I4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1336407674&sr=1-1


That's right folks!  Its available on Kindle now!

I hope you guys enjoy!

Thank you to all of you who supported me and encouraged me. 
A special thank you to Tirzah Goodwin at Tirzah Laughs for all her help in this process and for the cover!  It is beautiful and you are amazing!

Thank you all!
M.L.