Unexpected house guest

When I built my new, bigger, better pond this past spring, I hoped some wildlife would visit it. I was not disappointed. One frog led to two and then we released our two tadpole to frog Boy Scout project frogs into the pond. Next thing we know, we have six frogs and probably more. It's hard to tell them all apart except by size and only one is quite large. The rest are very similar.

The frogs have been a great source of amusement for the kids and myself. Each time we go out to feed the pond fish (four of the ten .10 gold fish that have survived in the pond), we count how many frogs splash into the pond rather than fall into the shadow that is giant mankind. The largest frog has become rather imune to our presence and gives off a 'Yeah, whatever. Feed the fish and leave us alone' vibe.

This has been fun and educational all summer long. But now it's fall and with the frosty temperatures, my friendly frogs seem to be looking for warmer places to hang out. Like under my house.

See, I have a tiny, dirt crawlspace rather than a much needed basement. We're used to chipmunks and mice skittering around under there dispite our best efforts keep their numbers down by feeding them the green pellets of doom. The favorite spot for tiny clawed feet seems to be the external lip around my main floor bathroom's tub. I'm not sure who's brilliant idea it was to install a tub with easy bottom access to all wildlife, but I'd love to track them down and have a word or two. Nothing is more relaxing than a nice hot bath and the skitter scratch of little rodents throwing a luau in the unexpected burst of heat.

Our furnace is down there. That makes for a nice warm place for all sorts of creatures. Including, apparently, frogs,- as we discovered when doing the annual fall furnace check. Let's just hope they are going there to hibernate rather than to sing to each other at night or do battle with the furry rodents who prance around my tub.

Busy and busier

I'd like to say that NaNo had stolen all my free time, so that by December I'd be back to my lazy morning hours of time to compose fun blog posts and write. Alas, it is not so.

Lately, my calendar has been full to the brim. For instance yesterday looked like this:
7am - see husband off to work, get dressed, start laundry, watch news, check emails & forums.
8am - get daughter off to school.
8:30 - see son sit in front of xbox because has the day off for conferences. Go to his conferences
10am - stop home. Discuss confrences. Demand son cleans his room. Get grocery list. Get Mother in law's grocery list. Get a few orders done.
11:45 - daughter is home from half day. Feed kids. Throw food in my mouth. Answer emails. Work on pep talks and forum post ideas
1:15 - go to bank, drop packages at postal outlet, get groceries
2:10 - realize while I'm in the middle of getting groceries, my daughter's conference is in ten minutes. Crap. Quick pay and leave.
2:20 -arrive at school, park, go to door next to classroom and learn its locked. Stupid school security. Drive around to main parking lot and run through school to the opposite end. Meet with teacher. Pick up books for NaNo book drive. Meet with teachers whose students I'll be doing the YWP with, copy fliers.
3:15 - drop cranky daughter off at home. Kick son off Xbox, make sure he's let the dog out an has cleaned his room. Go back to grocery store.
4:10 - finish getting groceries, drop off Mother in law's groceries, put her groceries away, scan all my groceries for stupid survey place and put them away.
4:45 -take deep breath. Answer emails, shift laundry to dryer and toss another load in. Consider what to make for dinner.
5:20 - throw dinner in face, talk to family, watch clock closely.
5:45 - leave for Boy Scout committee meeting
6:00 - no one else is there. wtf?
6:15 - others finally arrive. Have meeting
8:20 - discuss NaNo book drive and Boy Scout fundraiser with other moms while Boy Scouts finish their meeting
8:50 - get home.
9:00 - answer emails, read RIF program requirements - yes, I signed up to head that program up while at conferences. *head desk* Gather up the growing pile of things I need to mend and consider whether to work on that, the 100 felt cardinals I'm cutting out for xmas crafts for my daughter's school, or maybe write something.
9:10 - husband wants to watch tv together. Look at pile of stuff, look at tv and sigh. Watch tv.
10:30 - go to to bed and collapse.

Calgon, take me away!

Dependability

My goal for this post is to not mention that writing challenge that happens every November that takes over two and a half months of my life. So, moving on....

Yesterday my percolator finally provided a solution to one of my broken short stories. Yay! Now I have to revise the beginning and end again. Let's hope its the last time.

And now for a short rant that has nothing to do with writing because everything that does seems to lead back to that one thing that I'm endeavouring not to talk about today.

I spent the majority of my weekend throwing birthday parties for my eight year old daughter. I had a lot of actual work to do, but I stayed up late both nights to do it, not getting much happy weekend down time so I could perform my all important mom duties during the day. We had a family party, to which my own sister was forty-five minutes late because she lost track of time / switched her plans (even though I'd specifically picked that date and time because it fit in her schedule).

My daughter also wanted a friend party. I'm pretty jaded when it comes to friend parties, having been bitten with a failed party for my son years ago. He has the misfortune to have been born during spring break, when everyone is out of town or has plans. She has a fairly safe birth date, so I agreed to do the whole party shebang as long as we kept it at five guests. I didn't want to go broke.

We sent out invites. We got four official RSVPs and one girl who said she would be there. We got a pinata. We bought party favors. We got balloons. I made cupcakes. We decorated the yard (because it was a gorgeous fall day and if I didn't have to have a bunch of screaming girls in my house, I was all for it). My daughter set up games and I bought prizes. Everything was ready on time. Hooray!

One girl showed up. One. And her mom almost forgot but happened to check her calendar a few hours beforehand and managed to make it.

Thank goodness for that, but still. If you say you are going to be somewhere. Be there. Especially when kids are depending on you. It's darn hard to play party games with just two kids.

Needless to say, she was very disappointed in her friends and I wasn't very happy with their mothers. Instead of having fun with her friends, she learned that she can't depend on them. There's plenty of time in life to become jaded, she didn't need to start at eight.

An hour into the "party", seeing how bummed my daughter was even though she was trying to have a good time, I called a friend of mine to borrow a filler kid -hoping to at least allow the girls to play the games my daughter had proudly devised. I told my friend that her daughter didn't need to bring a gift. I already felt silly enough asking her to join a party in progress and gifts weren't the important part of the party. We just needed someone to come play, eat cupcakes, win prizes and break open a pinata. If I had had a few more friends with daughters of similar ages that wouldn't have been afforted by my asking her to join a party she hadn't actually been invited to, I would have called them. But I didn't.

Her daughter and mine aren't great friends. They don't know each other very well. They're not in the same class or even same grade. But she arrived with a big bag of presents (yes, even after I'd told her not to). The girls all had a great time. When the party was over and the other girl went home, she stayed an extra hour to just play.

I only hope that my daughter doesn't remember her birthday party as the day people didn't show up but the day she met a new friend. Dependable friends are priceless.

The dreaded question

As I was in my daughters school last week, gently nudging the principal to let me hold a used book drive there, I ran into one of the teachers. Not just any teacher, but the one I'd first done the Young Writers Program with. She was going on about much she loves the program because it gets her students so excited about writing, but she also asked the dreaded question: "So, do you have your novel published yet?"

She wasn't even asking about the novel I've been slaving over for years, rewriting, editing , querying for a short time and now working on again. No, she was asking about my first NaNo novel. The one that hasn't even seen the light of critiquer's eyes yet. The one I've only started a much needed rewriting effort on after letting it sit for four years. This novel being the one I wrote alongside her class to prove that I could write 50,ooo words in thirty days so they also could meet their writing goals.

I'm convinced she purposely hunts me down every year just to lob guilt monkeys at me.

"No." I go on to explain, like I do every year, that I'm using NaNo as an outlet to try new things and to apply what I've learned over that year. How I use NaNo as a break from working on the one novel that I'm really trying to get ready and out into the big world. I then am happy to finally be able to add that I do have a short story out soon, and did have some progress with my efforts toward getting a novel published, but it's not there yet.

For some reason, while this makes me feel positive, it's never quite enough for those who don't know better. "Oh, well that's nice."

I want to explain that you can't turn around and submit your NaNo-wonder-suck-novel to publishers in December, and that the publishing industry grits their teeth every December for just that reason. I want to tell her that what I churn out in November is a horrible rough draft and nothing even close to an actual finished novel. In fact, I am tempted to go on and on, but I know her eyes will glaze over in two seconds and we both have better things to do. Instead, I smile, nod and make a mental note to pick up extra bananas on the way home.

Day of the Guilt Monkeys

In preperation for NaNoWriMo, I've been busy making new items for raffle prizes to help raise money for our regional donation. This year I'm proud to present a set of four guiltabulous stickers.

This sticker features one of the dominating rabid cyborg attack weasels. These weasels keep us in our seats by patrolling the floors around writing areas until we meet our daily word count. Trust me, you don't want to anger the weasels.

Though less threatening than the rabid cyborg attack weasels, a mob of guilt monkeys is hard to ignore. That one in the back on the right looks less than impressed with my writing efforts no matter how much I try. I guess you can't impress every monkey.

Even less impressed than that monkey above, is this one. In fact, he kind of scares me.

If that array of guilt monkeys doesn't spur you into action, there's this little guy. Do you really want to make him cry? Really?

The plot bunny invasion continues

Gracie, this one's for you. Granted, the moustache isn't in keeping with the challenge, but the bunny cried out for one. I lost count of how many times I burnt my finger on the hot glue making that hat. Oww!

In the midst of the churning out all my other NaNo items, I've managed to only give life to three plot bunnies a day. I'd fail as a mother rabbit. Good thing I'm not one. That hot glue gun would be hell on furry little feet.

Yesterday I was able to create and print my stickers for our region, and a set for each of the two schools that participate in the Young Writers Program. I made winner magnets for all three. (Optimistic aren't I?) I also made six t-shirts of various designs and nine posters.

A newly created set of four Guilt Monkey stickers will be raffled off this year at various events. I'll post those friday. They make me laugh and I hope they will do the same for you.

Without further ado, I give you the newest members of the 2010 Plot Bunny warren. I have about ten more to make so suggestions are still welcome.

A visitor from out of place

Hello there. My name is Kevin. I love those little berries that are on the russian olive trees this time of year. I love them so much that I found myself alone in the middle of a suburb with a plentiful russian olive population. The other stupid flocking turkeys that live in the area, don't know what they're missing.

Did you know that a group of turkeys is actually called a rafter? I bet not. Only turkeys called Kevin who use google know that.

You might be thinking Kevin is a silly name for a turkey, but the young girl who named me thought it was utterly approriate for some reason. I try my best to ignore her and her dog that wants to come out and say hello. At least I'm pretty sure that's what he's saying when he jumps up and down behind the picture window. It's hard to tell with all his whining.

For the past three mornings, I go to the big russian olive bush in the girl's front yard and scrounge for berries in the grass. When I eat all of those, I jump up and nip them off the branches. It's very good exercise, you know. But now, this girl, she comes out every darn morning, in the middle of my berry breakfast, with her backpack on and begging to have her picture taken with me.

No freakin way. I don't care how much distance is between me and her, it's not enough.

I run as fast as my long, meaty turkey legs will carry me into the safety of the neighbor's yard across the street, and then work my way into the backyard of the lady next to them and into the places only turkeys like me know to go to hide from camera happy little girls.

Can't a lonely turkey eat breakfast in peace?

You know what they say about assuming?

Every time I catch myself typing 'assume', I hear the voice of an office manager I worked beside years ago. She was fond of muttering under her breath about our boss and clueless customers. If I had a dime for everytime I heard "When you assume it makes an ass out of you and me", I'd be on a beach with an umbrella drink waiting for my massage instead of sitting at my computer.

There are times in life where you have to be confident that you're doing the right thing. That you know what you're doing. That you've sent your submissiom to the right email address with the right information included and in the right format. But it also pays to tone down the assume level with a smidge of paranoia that makes you double check so you don't make an ass out of yourself.

In the past week I've had two prime examples. One made me laugh (an annoyed laugh, but a laugh nevertheless). The other made my blood pressure shoot through the shingles first thing in the morning.

When I opened up my work email to gather my online orders, I came across this gem: The customer orders an item. The size and specifications for the item are clearly listed on the order. The customer leaves a note at the bottom that states: I see this item is for (my particular vehicle) up to the 2006 model year. My current item is this size (lists entirely different size) and is a 2008. "I assume that because the item is listed as (my particular vehicle make), it will fit."

Serious head desk moment for me here. I thought this guy won the assumption of the year trophy for his blatant disgregard for logic.

But no. The next morning, he lost his day old title.

I wake to hear heavy equipment on the road outside. Annoyed, I peek out the window to see what neighbor was getting a tree removed or something. My eyebrows rise as I recognized one of our customer's trucks. They rise further when I realize there are also two dumptrucks and a huge flatbed with a bulldozer. Grabbing my clothes, I mutter, "What the hell is going on?"

A quick dash down the stairs later, I snatch the phone off the wall and dial my husband at work. "Did you schedule the lawnwork we'd talked about four months ago and never go a quote on from (our customer)."

"Uh, no. Why?"

"He's here. With trucks. I think they're ripping up the back yard already." I peek out the window. Sure enough, the efficient crew is hard at work within five minutes off the truck.

"He never even gave me a quote!" My husband sounds nearly as flustered as I am. "I noticed he left me a message this morning, but I was in a meeting until a few minutes ago. We weren't going to do anything with the yard if we couldn't trade a job and he never got back to me."

"Well he's here now. I think. There's two guys here anyway. I guess see if he's one of them and find out what is going on."

Turns out the boss isn't there, so I speak to a now thoroughly embarrased and confused employee. He calls the boss. The boss claims he had the ok to do the job. Perhaps, he suggests, I should call the boss. He gives me the number.

Paranoid as I am, and with the office manager's voice chanting in my head, I call my husband again to verify that there was no schedule or quote before confronting the boss.

The boss doesn't like me anyway because, you know, I'm inadequate because a woman. Yeah, he's that kind of guy. This means I don't have to pretend to be nice because this dislike thing has become mutual. If I'm the bad guy questioning the job, the men get to remain good with one another. I don't mind being the bad guy.

Nope, there was never any contact other than the intitial interest in getting a quote on the possible job trade. I call the boss.

"So, your guys are here ripping up my lawn. How much is this going to cost and what exactly are they even doing, because we never even got that information from you."

"I gave your husband a quote. He said it sounded good and to schedule the job. Now seemed like a good time, before the leaves started to fall."

"He never got a quote from you. We didn't know you were coming. Your guys have ripped up my underground robotic lawnmower wiring because I didn't get any notice to move it."

"I guess I should have called yesterday."

One day's notice would have beat none, but really? What if we had been on vacation or something? It's not like he waited to hear back from us, they just showed up and started working. Jeez! I give him a nice long, dead silence.

He starts to sound a little worried. "I have the numbers here somewhere. I thought I gave them to your husband. Maybe I didn't."

"You didn't."

"We'll make it an even trade. Don't worry about it."

Worry about it? You just ripped up my lawn without warning, without any estimated cost, and without any sort of approved plan. I'm not worried. I'm pissed off.

But, he's a customer. A big assuming customer. There's a limit to how much of a raging witch I can be and still keep his business. I grit my teeth.

"Since you've already ripped up my grass and tore up my underground wiring, you might as well go ahead with the rest of it."

At which point he apologized profusely, and I handed him the assumption trophy.

I don't even want to see what assuming wonders this next week might bring. Hopefully none of them will be mine.

Just one more thing

I'm one of those suckers who volunteers for everything. I admit it. If you sound desperate enough, I'll probably raise my hand and pile on another obligation. But there's a limit. Really, there is.

The phone rings. A familiar Boy Scout dad's voice says, "I need you to run our upcoming popcorn fundraiser."

"I'm sorry, I really can't."

The superhuman inside me seems to have worked the duct tape on her mouth loose. She mumbles something the sounds like, "Say yes." I kick the bound superhuman and wave at her to shut up.

"We were really hoping you would."

"I have too many other things going already during that same time."

Superhuman rolls her eyes. I apply new duct tape before she can scream, "I'll do it!".

"Your name was brought up by several people who thought you'd be right for the job."

"I'm sure it was." I take a deep breath. "You have to understand, during that same couple months, I have to purchase materials and create nine hundred christmas craft kits for my daughter's school. I'm also a Girl Scout leader and have meetings and crafts to organize. We have a PTO fundraiser I'm helping with. I have NaNo raffle items to solicit and some to create and write-ins to set up. I have the Young Writer's program to pitch to new schools and organize in the two I already do. I'm running a book drive for the entire county, and I just signed up to be on the funding committee for the school system. Did I mention that I also run a business?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I might have someone else that can do it, but can you at least help her?"

I give Superhuman one last kick and rip off her shiny red cape. With a quick twist, I put it on. "I'll do what I can, but I'm not promising anything big."

"Thanks. We'd really like you to take this over next year so keep that in mind."

After hanging up the phone, I drag Superhuman out to the back yard, toss her in a hole and bury her. After standing there minute, I pile on a few cinderblocks for good measure.

There, maybe now I'll still find a little time to write.

Getting groovy

It's almost time to get back into the groove. School starts next tuesday. That means no more waving the husband off in the morning and crawling back into bed for an few minutes (an hour or two) before realizing I've slept all my writing time away and the kids have slept until 10. Again.

This is adjustment week. Up at 7:00am - 'up' as in awake enough to turn on the news and wave the husband off to work. I've been waking the kids up earlier each day. We were down to 7:30 this morning. Bed times have also been adjusted. So far everyone is taking the return to routine pretty well. Evenings have been filled with school open houses, and PTO, Girl Scout and Boy Scout planning meetings. Ah, fall. I'd love to say that I can smell it in the air, but its ninety degrees and horribly humid again today, and I don't want to think about what that funky smell is.

Very soon, I'll have the silent house to myself. I'll get some uninterupted writing time. Of course, there's still work to be done and volunteer obligations to meet, but I'm excited nevertheless.

Rewrites, short story fixes and Sahmara edits, I'm coming for you!

Reading, ranting and religion

It's sunday evening and it's freakin hot. Ninety degrees and counting. I grab a book from my stack of NaNo raffle prize / Barnes & Noble clearance bin purchases, pack up the kids and head to the beach.

The parking lot is packed. The beach is over-crowded. We find a small haven between the three foot trench someone dug earlier in the day and a couple yelling at their kid to stop throwing sand. The water is cool and clear - for once since we haven't had a good rain storm in weeks to stir it up into its usual muddy look. Waves slurp at the shoreline, filled with kids and a sampling of rafts, tubes and floaties. My kids wade out to join the others. I kick back with my book in the desperate hope that it will be far better than the last.

Thank goodness it was, because I don't have the patience to scrape another learning experience from reading something far less than stellar after the last few books.

While I've heard the majority of the advice offered in this book before, it didn't hurt to hear it again. The positive and realistic light shed by the host of successful novelists was refreshing, uplifting and sometimes even downright humorous. Though I haven't yet come across any 'insider secrets', it is filled with lots of helpful tips and advice. I'd recommend this book to anyone who doesn't have access to a critique group with experienced writers.

As I was busy reading the tirade on writing muses and percolating the issue I'm having with the ending on the short story I'm revising, I became aware of multiple feet gathering behind me. The chatter level grew to a volume I could no longer tune out. My reading and pondering oasis was shattered. I turned around.

A hundred-some people stood behind me, all dressed in beach-going attire but milling around and showing no sign of settling down. Mostly teens and thirty-somethings, these folks gathered into a tight cluster and raised their hands. At least they quieted down at this point so I went back to reading. Or trying to.

"AMEN!"

I jump a little and turn around. Don't tell me...

And then the guitar starts. And the singing.

Yes, a hundred-some folks have decended on the packed public beach, on a ninety degree day, the last weekend before schools starts when everyone is making their last big beach trek, to hold a church service. And not just any church service, oh no.

"Hallelujah!"

The crowd breaks and decends on the beach, heedless of the families they have interupted, the children's sandcastles, and the people that are grabbing their lawnchairs, towels and bags and relocating. Half of the church people wade out into the water, sending kids running in all directions as their swimming space is taken up by the crowd. People with cameras wade out further as do several others. An akward hush takes over the entire beach as a baptism takes place - everyone attempting to be respectful of the occasion thrust upon us all.

The teen boy comes up from the water after being dunked and lets out a loud cheer. The church crowd claps and cheers along with him.

Ok, fine. They're done. Everyone can go back to playing in the water, resuming their conversations and I can go back to reading my book. Don't get me wrong, but if I wanted to be included in a church service, I'd have gone to church instead of the beach.

The crowd doesn't disperse. No, no. They go on to perform thirteen other baptisms with thirteen other rounds of cheering and clapping. I attempt to block out the noise. People attempt to play quietly in the water.

At this point I overhear the suggestion that the masses should go among the beach-goes and spread the love of the church. Seriously? As if you haven't impossed on everyone enough already? I'm sure if anyone felt moved by the ceremony and wanted to join you, they'd know which cheering, guitar-toting, we're-taking-over-the-beach gaggle of half soaked people to approach.

An exodus began from those within earshot of the group. We joined them.

Thank you, church group, for making my last time at the beach with my kids this summer less enjoyable than putting up with the annoying kid who was obessed with jabbing an empty plastic bottle with a large stick for half an hour. He had a right to be on the public beach too, but at least his parents eventually yelled at him for being inconsiderate of others.

The return from the great green north

I'd intended to do a couple blog posts while on vacation, but it seems that the ISP in Michigan's Upper Penninsula doesn't play nice with Windows Vista. Now that laundry/mail and all that other fun stuff upon coming home after a week away is taken care of, I'm back to posting.

Since no one did my work for me during my time away, I'm rather overwhelmed. As such, I leave you today with a quick look at where I was during my blog silence. Next post, I'll get to the pile of books on writing that arrived while I was gone.


Day one: Stayed on shore of Lake Michigan.
Weather: Cold, windy, drizzly. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.

Day Two: Cruised through Soo Locks.
Weather: Cold, windy, drizzly. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.

Day Three: Walked around the Upper Taquamenon Falls.
Weather: Cold, windy, random moments of sunshine. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.

Day Four: Went to see bears and fed them apples.
Weather: Overcast and pouring rain. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.

Day Five: Took a hike and cruise along Pictured Rocks Lakeshore
Weather: Cold and windy. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.


Day Six: Went to Kitchitikipi Spring. We could see all the way to the bottom in the crystal clear water.
Weather: Cold and it rained so hard on the way home that the entire highway full of traffic came to a stop because no one could see. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.

Yet, we managed to have a good time. And now I'm going to go wring out my beach towels to water the lawn.

Bottoms up!

Well folks, I'll be on vacation next week. I'm SO looking forward to it. Going to do a lot of enjoying nature, shell and rock hunting on beaches and hopefully basking in good weather with my family.

When I get back, it will be time to buckle down and write. Sahmara has been quite put out with all the time I've spent looking up hotels and area attractions instead of working on her story.

For your own relaxation, I leave you with the E-book article drinking game. If you need fodder, it seems my post from last week should get you relatively sloshed. Just make sure you read the great comments at the end while you can still understand them and maybe purchase some e-books from the posters to enjoy while your lying on the couch with a hangover (or wicked sugar crash for those of you who are alcohol free) tomorrow.

Writing is a lonely thing

And as such, I thought I'd share this lovely poem that I nabbed from Stella on facebook.

Always remember to love being you and enjoy yourself. Being alone and doing things alone is just fine.

Sit back and relax and enjoy: How to be alone

Another writing distraction conquered!

First of all, thanks to all who stopped by last week to vote on the direction of my newest writing project. The rats have won! I spent some time doing my rat research last night and am ready to dive in when tonight's writing window comes around.

Onward into my victory!

Prior to rat research time, I was busy cleaning up the remnants of my far too long and drawn out redecorating project. After much swearing and cursing of the original builders, I am happy to announce that the laminate floor is in! The tools are put away, the sawdust has been vacuumed, and the chaos of renovation has been put back to rights.

Behold the the before and after.

The green room becomes...

The red room!
(Yes, we still need new carpet. That wasn't in the budget just yet.)

The other half of the room.

Ah, that feels good. If only it would stay all neat and clean.

Okay, guilt monkeys, I have all my major distractions out of the way. I declare that two weeks from now, I'll have the first draft of this rat story done. Here are your bananas. Thank you.

Why is everything blurry?

I had planned this victorious monday morning post. As usual, my plan went out the window as I pried open my eyes. Well, one of them anyway.

As of last wednesday night, my flowerbed project is complete! My last task was to clean out the overgrown play area--mostly filled with invasive pricker vines which have kept my kids at bay and kept their toys all over the yard since last fall.

The mission was successful. Mulch mountain is no more. The weeds are removed. The toys have their old home back. All was well... until...

I woke up the next morning with blisters all over my arms and cheek and realized we'd been hosts to poison ivy. In the thirteen years we've lived here, we've never had a problem with it. Now, apparently, we do. Or at least, I do.

Vegetation obliteration spray has been applied. Anti-itch cream as been heartily slathered. Thankfully I was wearing gloves so my hands are only slightly affected or it typing would be a miserable task. The bad news is, I'd just cleaned out the wayward raspberry bushes the night before and my arms were covered in scratches that happily absorbed the aggitating oil and I was hot as hell while pulling the weeds and apparently wiped my face on the back of my glove several times, so my eyelid, cheek, jaw and neck are also affected.

As if that wasn't enough fun...

I spent my weekend intent on making the the best of the situation by finishing up the living room project--at least that could be accomplished in the luxury of air conditioning. The last slip cover has been sewn. After a month and half of walking around it, my sewing stuff has been put away. Hooray!

With all of sunday ahead of me and a severe need for distraction from the ever increasing urge to itch my skin down to the bone, I give my husband the wifely equivelant of the boo-boo lip and got him on board with finally putting in the laminate flooring. After much swearing, sweating, prying up of staples and ancient tack strips, and breathing in of carpet padding funk, the new flooring was laid.

This morning I woke up with a half swollen shut eye and a puffy side of the face. Thanks allergies and poision ivy!

Today, I'm planning to enjoy a cold washcloth on my face as much a possible. Tonight we can conquer the trim and then put things back to rights. Tomorrow I can get to writing about the rats.

Lets hope that this time, things go according to plan.

Garden Tour

While Trust is bubbling around in the subconscious thought percolator, I'm busy brainstorming a new project, possibly a short story or novella. I'm also percolating the long awaited ending to Swan Queen. So many things to think about, I tell you.

This morning I went over feedback on a sci-fi short and got that submitted. That makes three shorts out in submissionland at the moment. I like to juggle a few things out there at once so when a rejection comes in, I'm not too bummed. After all, there are still other possible positive outcomes in the works.

Since I'm doing all this percolating, and ironicaly, this post was not on the list, how about I share some of my garden projects I've been bathering about for the past two months.

Previously. this was a solid mass of siberian iris.

And this was a mess of four foot tall orange daylilies that endeavored to choke out everything else.

These edging bricks were all covered in grass and dirt.
I've done a lot of archeological dig gardening so far this summer.

Added a lot of new stuff here, and after four years of neglect, treated this sun beaten patch of sandy garden to some much needed mulch.

Before I attacked this, only to top row of bricks was showing and the japanese iris had taken over. Amazing what a few years of letting things go will do--and not in a good way.

The new pond I put in. Previously this was a little 30 gallon pre-formed pond. Now its three foot deep and four foot by six foot wide. I wanted it bigger, but the waterfall section is sitting right on top the remains of a tree stump and I wasn't energetic enough to rent a stump grinder.

Lots of weeding done here. If I let this go, it would be a oak and pine tree forest.

The other side of the photo above. It's a very wide garden section.

A new section I put in a couple years ago that only needed some mild clean up.
Hands down, the easiest bed I had to tackle.

The roadside garden. This one was also recently redone so it wasn't horribly overgrown, just weedy.

Finally! One I can show you that has nicely filled in since last fall's makeover.
I hope they all look this nice next summer.

The other section of roadside garden. Did a lot of rearranging of perennials here because the bushes have all grown so much since I first put them in.

The iris patch in front of my very neglected garden. Blame my fractured ankle that came at the wrong time of year. (Is there a ever good time of year for that?) Did some major dividing and giving away of plants from this section.

Two years ago our new neighbors put in this fence which offered me the excuse to finally tackle one of the last untamed sections of our yard. Goodbye pricker vines and sassafrass trees! Moved a bunch of divided stuff into here and did a lot of weeding. Those sassafrass trees are like adverbs, they keep popping up everywhere!

Four more non-spectacular gardens are going undocumented for now. They need to fill in a lot before they are at all worthy of a photo.

I hope you enjoyed the tour. :)

Therapy puppet theatre

Let's just say I'm very glad I didn't jump the gun and post any bursts of good news a couple weeks ago. For those who weren't privy to this as it played out, (a big thank you to those who were. Your support is very much appreciated) I present my last couple weeks through therapy puppet theatre!

Player One sits down and opens up her board game, Lifopoly (the board game I seem to have mashed together in my previous post). She sets up all the game pieces with care, making sure to follow all the instructions and sits back to see if anyone wants to play the game with her.

Player Two happens by. "Say, is that Lifopoly? I love this! Can I play?"

Player one says, "I'd love to play with you! Have a seat."

"Thank you!" Player two sits down. "I really like what you have here, why don't you go directly to Go and collect $200?"

"Really? That's awesome! Thanks!" Player one picks up her thimble game piece and starts to move toward the Go space.

Player Two's brows furrow. "Oh. Hmm. I couldn't help but notice that you're using a thimble. Would you be opposed to using the iron game piece instead?"

"Sure. No problem."

"Oh. And how about instead of car game pieces, you call them hover ships?"

"I can work with that."

"Would you mind changing all the people pegs from pink and blue to yellow and purple?"

"Uhhh. I guess not."

"Great. Let's play."

Player one wipes her brow and moves her iron closer to Go.

Player two rubs her chin. "I just thought of something else. How about we skip the number three when we roll or spin."

"Umm. Okay." Player one gets out a sharpie and turns the number three on the spinner into a snowman and makes an X on the three side of the dice. "Can I move to Go now?"

"Do you have a full house?"

Player one blinks and looks from Lifopoly to Player two. "Uhh, what?"

"A full house. Do you have one? Maybe royal flush?"

"This is Lifopoly, not poker."

"Looks a lot like poker."

Player one surveys the game again and then notices the cards in Player two's hands. She cocks an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose they are both games."

"Lifopoly also reminds me of Cribbage."

"I don't even like Cribbage."

"Nevertheless, it reminds me of Cribbage. And Go Fish."

"Huh? Really?" Player one picks up the hover craft with it's family of purple and yellow pegs inside and examines it. "Well, they are all games so I suppose you could call them connected."

"I don't like card games. Unless you change Lifopoly into croquet, I don't want to play."

Player one picks up the iron game piece and pictures whacking it around the lawn with a mallet. "I guess I'll see what I can do."

Player two gets up, jarring the game board and sending all the game pieces flying. "You know where to find me if you want to play croquet."

"Yeah. Thanks." Player one watches Player two leave. She lovingly picks up her game pieces and packs them away in the box, one by one. She takes one last look at the Go space and then folds the game board up. "Well now, that was interesting," she says to the empty chair. "Guess I'll put this game away for a little bit while I decide whether croquet is my thing or not."

She picks up the box and gets ready to leave. The corner of the box rattles and lifts up ever so slightly. Player one notices a high-pitched hum and waves her hand in the air, thinking to shoo away a mosquito. A tiny, bright red hover craft wizzes in front of her face. It's purple and yellow occupants have grins on their little bulbous heads. She briefly wonders how they are driving since they have pegs for bodies, but shrugs the thought off in light of everything else on her mind.

"We're free!" They cry. The hover craft does one more lap around player one's head and speeds off.

The therapist snaps his fingers. "Hello, cazy writer lady, time to put the puppets away now."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

Another monday

They have a way of coming around every seven days, don't they? Unlike many people, I like mondays. They are the return to order around my house. A day when I can pick things up and they might stay put away for several hours because everyone else has gone about their monday routines. For a brief moment, I might get a glimpse of my house as I see it in my head, that tidy, newly redecorated place that breathes calm into my often hectic life.

Every weekend has been busy and rainy, driving me to even further appreciate my mondays--the day when mother nature likes to spite all the work away from home people by offering sunshine and perfect temperatures. Working at home does have certain benefits. Assuming the work I need to do that day isn't the sort that requires me to remain inside, only to gaze longingly out the windows like everyone else.

This monday also marks my summer return to the groove (or at least in much closer proximity to the groove than I've been in a long while). I have decreed it so.

My latest book addiction session was just what I needed to catch my breath and take a step back.

For the past few months, work, projects around the house, and child obligations have severely hampered my writing time. But now...

The kids, home for summer break, have fallen into their own mostly self sufficient routines and have found friend's houses to hang out at on occassion. My flowerbeds (if I could get a few consectutive days without rain, it would be most appreciatated) are almost done and are to a point I can finish whenever I get to it. The house is mostly put back together after the big redecoration project--only one slipcover and eventually putting in the laminate flooring that is taking up space in my garage remain to be completed. My annual (one month late thanks to my fractured ankle fiasco) garage sale is done as if this past weekend, and all the stuff that didn't sell is put away or crammed into the back of my car waiting to be dropped off at Goodwill. My job board is as clean as its been in months after busting my behind lately to push jobs through.

Join me in a deep inhale exhale. Ah, that's better.

I'm free

It's over. I closed the book this morning, having reached the last page after getting up an hour early with the intent to finish this thing! I am immensely thankful that Jacqueline Carey doesn't pump out books every few months or my own productivity would be seriously hampered.

As it stands, Naamah's Curse is to blame for:
• My sunburned back--I was too busy reading and forgot to roll over when I was supposed to.
• Several hours of missed sleep
• My garage sale being delayed a day--I was too busy reading to get out to price and set things up yesterday.
• A bird almost hitting my daughter--I was attempting to be interactive while reading and so sat on a quite secluded bench on my desk which I infrequently use so I could 'watch' my daughter pick seeds from my prolific lilies to sell in the garage sale. A cardinal flew over the bush behind me and, finding me invading the bird feeder space, freaked out and flew off at top speed, missing my daughters face by a mere inch. At least she thought it was cool.
• A sore back. I discovered reading while laying on my stomach isn't as comfortable as I remember it being. I think I'm too used to sitting at a computer these days. Unfortuately, use of the late night reading light demands I use that postition for optimal extension of the 'turn that freakin light off already' factor.

Beyond my list of grievences, I feel it was good to have my children witness me in full reading frenzy with an actual book. I read on my computer all the time, but I could just as well be surfing the web for all they know. They both remarked several times how much I must really like the book to be reading it so much. Darn right. Now go read one of your own!

There are very few books that allow me to lose myself in them without that infernal internal editing voice piping up every few paragraphs and my hand twitching to make notes. Perhaps spending so much of the last two years critiquing others hasn't been entirely a good thing. I'm happy to say, this was a most enjoyable read. As if you hadn't figured that out already.

I laughed. I cried. I cried several times to be honest. There is a lot of emotion packed into this story and all her others. The characters may change, and with the second trilogy, that was a little jarring, but with this, the third, knowing she will take good care of me as a reader, I'm much more accepting. I was not let down.

Unlike many authors of long series, she hasn't fallen into predictable or come to rely on a formula. As much as I might enjoy a two or three books by an author, if the one reads too much like the other, I'm done with it. Enjoyable as they might be, I'd rather read something new. With these, the adventure continues, swirling about the world in new places with new challenges. The only predicable thing I've come to find is that when a character says they are happy, they won't be by the next page. The good thing is I never know why until it happens.

My one regret with this novel is that I won't get it signed. When Naamah's Kiss was released, I had the pleasure of meeting Jacqueline Carey at a book signing (I got lucky with a book tour stop only five minutes away!). She was very kind... and patient with whom I discovered were several other fellow aspriring authors who also lingered in the seats lined up in front of her table. Between signings she answered all our questions, telling us of her practice novels, getting her first novel published and the best wisdom of all, "you'll never know if your novel will get published unless you start sending it out."

Having been stuck in an endless cycle of revision--as it seemed so was the rest of the endless question lobbing group--this was exactly what I needed to be smacked upside the head with.

Yes ma'am. I'm sending it out!