SURREALITY

Yes, I made up a word. The past two years have been surreal and reality, hence Surreality. You’re welcome. Like most people, my world has been rocked and rolled over the past two years. I work in health care, so I continued to work through the pandemic, although my patient load and hours got cut back for a while. Things are roughly back to normal on the work front, so that’s good news. The home front is decidedly not normal. Over the years, we have enjoyed a relatively healthy existence. 2021 decided that needed to change, so in January, the entire household came down with Covid-19. I don’t think I’ve ever been that sick for that long, but we recovered without any major issues. During my downtime, I decided it was time to find a primary physician and made an appointment with my husband’s doctor. As a healthcare provider I have certain expectations of doctors, and this one didn’t make the cut. I take issue with any doctor who doesn’t ask basic questions regarding my health history, doesn’t address current conditions and concerns, and repeats no less than four times that I need to eat more plant-based foods (without asking about my diet). At least, she did request lab work, a mammogram, and a colon screen (done, done, and done). Now, to find another doctor. All was going along relatively smoothly until I woke up at 3am over Labor Day weekend in atrial fibrillation. Most might say they had heart palpitations. I’d call it an asynchronized kettle drum thumping on the wrong side of my chest. After an early morning trek to the emergency room (via Whataburger because mi esposo needed breakfast), voila–I now have history of a-fib. Fun. Fortunately, my little, ole heart decided to go back to a normal rhythm without further drama, and I went home with a very nice, shiny cardiologist to call my own. Yippee. That was nothing. The next week, mi esposo went in for a cardiac catheterization–nothing was wrong, but his cardiologist wanted to take a look around his heart’s arteries. Mi esposo came away with two stents and a buttload of blood thinners. Nothing wrong, my fanny! You’d think that would be enough, right? Nope. In October, mi esposo, the Mimi, and I took a tiny trip to Georgia to meet our new grandbaby girl (I shall call her Girlie). She’s gorgeous, adorable, magnificent, smart, opinionated, and possesses a set of lungs that lets you know she means Business (That’s my girl!). Anyway, on our last day visiting, mi esposo decided to help Myrtle the Elder put some things away in the attic. He took an ill-advised shortcut out of the attic and landed on the concrete garage floor. Did you know that bones don’t like concrete all that much? Nor do they appreciate 8-foot drops onto said concrete. We also discovered that morphine is not his friend, and neither is the LSD-type concoction that he received in the emergency room to control the pain. So, while mi esposo experienced life in a Georgia hospital and rehab, I had to come home and figure out how I was going to get him back to Texas. After three weeks, Myrtle the Younger and I trekked back to Georgia, sprung mi esposo from jail–I mean rehab, and hauled him home in a four-day, whirlwind trip that I’m still recovering from four months later. He’s healing well but has more therapy and surgery in his future. And we have a new normal. The weirdness of 2020 and 2021 has given me a lot of time and fodder for my writing. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve entered a few more short story/flash fiction contests and done pretty darn well if you’re interested (well, you must be if you’re reading this). A friend is producing an anthology this spring, and I’ve submitted a story for it. Stay tuned for more details. I have finished the first two books of my newest series, The Tess Corona Chronicles. (No, I did not name her after the virus! The name was given two years before the pandemic, and no, I am not changing it. So, there.) I’m querying agents and publishers for the first novel–And They Danced, and I’m working with my critique group on the second–And They Played. Writing of the third book, And They Hid, has commenced. If that isn’t enough, I still have to write the last book of the Spiritual Gifts trilogy, books 3 and 4 of the Daemon series, a non-fiction work, and at least a dozen or so short stories. Did I mention that I work full-time? And that mi esposo can’t do most of the things I need him to do? There aren’t enough hours in the day. T

Old and New

 Most of my social media feeds show people reflecting on 2020 and planning for 2021. I am not a planner–not even what’s for dinner–but I do make an effort to at least sketch out a calendar with important dates. This year I tried to at least look at what I accomplished in 2020. In a year of global ups and downs, I have to admit my year was mostly up.

Ups: I opened the year getting 3rd place in a local short story contest (Transplant), then got 1st place in August (All Saints). I published my 4th book (Valkyrie) in May, finished my 1st manuscript for a new series-The Cerveza Chronicles, and made headway on the 2nd novel. I participated in National Write a Novel Month for the 5th time, and PitchWars for the 1st time.

My learning process continued with (in person and online) meetings and classes for Skywarn, TCU Center of Texas Studies, Texas Discovery Gardens, Sisters in Crime (North Dallas, Heart of Texas, Houston, North California, National), Bourchercon-Sacramento, Writer’s Guild of Texas, Dallas Mystery Writers, Dallas Area Writers Group (DAWG), Roanoke Writers Conference, Writer’s Organizations ‘Round Dallas (WORD), and Frisco Area Writers Group (FAWN). Basically, if they let me in, I took notes.

My oldest–Myrtle the Elder–came to visit in January and bought her first home in February. She also got a new puppy–a Boston Terrier name Moose. My other granddogs are doing well. Doc had a bloody ear, but otherwise avoided having his stomach pumped again (win!). I’ve been able to keep in touch with friends through Zoom, Discord, texting, and the occasional porch or driveway visit.

T’s Adventures in Cooking including learning to fill tamales (yum!), making my first chicken and dumplings and beef stew, my first cobbler (blog post-Drunk Peaches), not-my-first-but-it’d-been-awhile Thanksgiving turkey, and the best smoked Christmas ham with a cranberry-dijon glaze (seriously good and ham isn’t my favorite meat).

Downs: In March, my husband and I had to put our 15 year old black lab to sleep (blog post-My Boy). I still miss my boy.

Covid-19 affected everyone I know in one way or another. One family member (a nurse) caught it early on but recovered. Friends went into strict quarantine due to health concerns, and most transitioned their work to home. My job (occupational therapist) doesn’t have the luxury of working from home, but we did have to decrease our hours temporarily. Fortunately, my employer did everything they could to keep us working, and I had over 100 hours of vacation time (because I forget to plan time off) accumulated to offset the difference.

Personally, I haven’t allowed the pandemic to limit me. I live my life, wear a mask, and respect others space. It doesn’t work for many, but it works for me.

What does 2021 hold for T?

No clue. I’m attempting to make a few plans. I’m going to take the leap and query agents for The Cerveza Chronicles. Honestly, I’m not sure how patient I will be with that process, but we’ll see. I am a new board member of Writers Guild of Texas (pray for them, they know not what possessed them). Any and all classes, meetings, critiques, contests, etc that I am capable of participating in, shall be participated in. And Myrtle the Younger and I will continue our Adventures in Cooking (she got a tiny waffle maker for Christmas-yummy!) so stay tuned for whatever crazy whim we get a taste for, without setting the kitchen on fire (it’s a skill I haven’t mastered yet. My mother has achieved that greatness at least 3 times that I know of).

Many blessing to all for a HEALTHY and SAFE 2021!

T.

Getting Even

Sometimes you have to be proud of your kids. Especially when they pay your parents back for some evil act of yesteryear.

Case in point: driving with the Mimi.

When I was a lowly teenager, learning to drive at the ripe age of 15 (Texas allowed for younger drivers to get a permit at 15 if a hardship could be proven), my mother was responsible for much of my driving practice.

Before I say more, allow me to paint a picture for you. I always win the ugly car contest. Always. The entire world is under the mistaken impression that their first set of wheels was the worst ever in the history of automotive...you get the point. Y'all ain't seen nothing!

Picture this (because I sure as hell didn't keep a picture of it): an 1973 ice blue, government surplus, no A/C (this is Texas, remember?), AM radio, AMC Ambassador station wagon. Damn thing was a tank. It is impossible to drive down the road, incognito or otherwise, in that THING.

And it was indestructible, too. I got mad one day and backed into another car. Luckily the other car was a land yacht because it only took a dent to the fender while Old Blue had a shattered tail lamp cover (which mi espouso-then boyfriend repaired with red tape and all was good).

And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

Mimi decided one day that I would drive her home from the grocery store in Old Blue. I think it was my first or second time behind this particular set of wheels. Did I mention this thing was a TANK? Did I mention my depth perception is pretty crappy? Anyway, I am trying to turn from the parking lot onto a busy street and I hit the curb. We've all done that, right? No biggie.

Not with Mimi in the car. She's screaming. I over-correct and run the tank up onto the curb. I stop before anything gets damaged, but Mimi is still screaming. I don't recall what happened next, but I'm pretty sure harsh words were exchanged and possibly a few tears were shed.

Fast forward to today's text, and I quote: "Child drove down her first mountain with Mimi screaming all the way."

The parties involved include Mimi (of course) and Myrtle the Younger. They are currently touring the southeast part of the US (watch out, y'all have been warned.), with current destination of Monticello. Now I must point out that both Myrtles are excellent drivers and MTY is equally gifted with navigation. I must also note that Mimi has OCD, but let's just say her navigation skills leave a little to be desired. (Ask me about Alabama and live explosives sometime.)

All I can hope for is 1) they were on the right mountain, 2) MTY still has her hearing and will to live, and 3) they are having fun.

Y'all pray for them!

T.

New Year's Resolution

For the record, I do not typically set resolutions. Furthermore, I don't set goals. Any goal or resolution setting I do for myself is a guarantee that I won't do whatever I have said I will do.

Now some of my friends and colleagues (and bosses) offer to help me "write goals." I know how to write goals, people. It's part of my job. The issue lies in me writing goals for myself. That becomes a problem for anyone who is goal-driven (employers). On my last year's work self-appraisal, I answered the question of "what are your professional goals for the coming year?" with a realistic goal of "keep my license". I have no idea what I'll put down this year since 2017 is not a renewal year for me, but rest assured I will be forced to come up with some such nonsense to keep HR happy. (I wonder if "continue breathing" will be accepted.)

Anyhoo...against my avoidance of resolutions, I made one for 2017. There was a witness, too. Namely the Mimi who holds accountability up there with kitchen soap (that's a story to tell...later). In other words, accountability is pretty high on her list of standards.

As many of you might recall, the last 3 months of 2016 wound up being rather trying when the Mimi kissed a sidewalk in NYC and me, being the medical/rehabilitation expert, moved all sorts of dirt to get her to the airport, on the plane, to Texas, off the plane, into rehab, out of rehab, to home, to work, etc. In the midst of that, she has been remodeling her home, so almost every weekend and occasionally during the week, including holidays, I have been called to take care of something (shopping, groceries, move clothes downstairs, move clothes upstairs, rearrange furniture, install new dishwasher, etc). (The last was completed with the assistance of mi espouso.) (Ok, he did the work, I helped.)

Point is--I've been working my tail off. So when the Mimi graciously attempts to thank me for my efforts above and beyond the call of daughterly duty, I informed her that my goal for 2017 was to be a slacker.

Can you tell where this is going? Yeah.

That resolution was quickly reduced to ash when I received a text message (group including mi espouso, baby brudder, and Myrtle the Younger) from the Mimi. The issue: a dead mouse stinking up her temporary bedroom from a ceiling vent. I (trying to maintain slacker-hood) dutifully continued working. Baby brudder responded with an "insert cat" comment and things went downhill from there. Several texts later, the Mimi again requested assistance with carcass removal and claimed to be able to see said body. Considering extraction would require climbing a stepladder and the Mimi is gravity-challenged at this time, someone had to do something. Guess who that someone was. (Come on, take a wild guess!)

So Myrtle the Younger and I make the hour and a half trek to the Mimi's abode, where we proceeded to investigate said vent, where I could see what looked like a fluffy turd. (I'm not trying to be gross, kids, just calling it like I see it.) So I proceed to remove the vent and what to our wondering eyes did appear? A long, turd-shaped dust bunny.

Yes, folks, I drove a total of 3 hours to remove a dust bunny from an AC vent.

Our best conclusion was that some critter left this world in the rough vicinity of the duct, but not was not kind enough to crawl into an easily accessible location before dying.

Fortunately, the smell had dissipated before our arrival and the Mimi thanked us properly with a nice meal. I shall resume my attempt at slacking now. DO NOT contact me for dust bunny removal. Ever.

T.

Busted in NYC (or Why T Doesn't Travel)

You know when I said New York or Bust, I didn't mean literally.

We arrived yesterday (as previously reported) with every intention of enjoying a few sights in addition to the All-American High School Film Festival (haven't had a chance to tell y'all about that-very exciting).

First on our agenda was to visit a cemetery (we hunt dead people for kicks) where my great-grandfather's 1st wife is buried. So we figure out the subway and with only minor hiccups, we arrive at said cemetery where Myrtle Mimi displays her vast talent and grace. Short story: the sidewalk won.

Good news-the stories you hear of New Yorkers stepping over your inert body are complete falsehoods. In a matter of seconds, we had cars and pedestrians offering an assortment of assistance. God bless them all. We managed to get Mimi moving again, albeit using me and Myrtle Sue like a walker, and continued the remaining 50 yards into the cemetery. We genealogists have our priorities. (Yes, we found the grave. It and the cemetery are gorgeous.)

At that point, Mimi decided a visit for an x-ray might be in order, so we called for a cab. In the Bronx, taxis aren't on every corner. After calling, waiting, and calling again, the cab option was given up on and we called for some of New York's finest to escort our carcasses to a hospital. They even went above and beyond by choosing a hospital with reasonable bus/subway access for us.

So not only did we add an ambulance ride and an ER visit to our agenda, Mimi has a fractured pelvis for a souvenir and I get to spend the night in a chair. (When I wrote the hospital scenes in If You Touch My Mind, I didn't know I was predicting my future!).

Now to figure out what's in store for us next. Stay tuned!

T