Time to Reflect

Two things have happened this week which make me want to pause for just a moment.

This first came the news that a dear friend had passed away. When I met Darlene Cates over four years ago, I had no idea who she was or what she would come to mean to me. Millions knew her as the mother in What's Eating Gilbert Grape? I had never seen the movie or her other work (a fact she tried to remedy without success). In spite of my extreme introversion (a fact she was truly blind to), she bulldozed her way into my life, worming out every stinking detail of my otherwise dull existence. She invited me to the filming and then the preview of her final movie short, Mother, she attended one of Myrtle the Younger's archery tournaments, she cried over the loss of my mother's cat, and, more importantly, she listened to my insane ideas for a screenplay.

Not only did she listen, Darlene demanded that I write my little story down, after which she helped me to milk every stinking detail of the story out of my pea brain. As that tale developed, other story lines emerged. With each idea, Darlene was there helping me to find and develop the story. She asked thousands of questions. It was the third story which became If You Touch My Mind. It was also the one I dedicated to her honor.

I've continued to work on the first two stories and kept her up-to-date on their progress. At our last tea party, Darlene asked if I would have Healer (my second story) done before she passed. I promised her it would be out within a month. I didn't realize I only had a week.

Be at peace, my friend.

The second event occurred overnight. My church participates in a program called Family Promise. This is a collaborative effort of churches to provide shelter for temporarily homeless families. Each church hosts these families for one week while they look for work or get back on their feet. I volunteered to be an overnight host and last night was my first opportunity.

I met the three families as they finished dinner and we had a lovely time chatting about kids, college football (I had to forgive one couple for being OU fans-they kindly forgave me for my UT affiliation), One mom was new while the other couple had experienced the program for several weeks. The mentoring, friendship and love which these families displayed for each other and those of us who volunteered to help them was astounding and humbling. It was well worth the aches and pains of camping out at church on an air mattress all night.

Blessings,
T.

Just A Quickie

I'm sorry I haven't posted lately. There's probably no other excuse than I just don't have much to report. So here are a couple of interesting tidbits:

My favorite cover artist (aka Myrtle the Younger) has decided not to do the cover art for my fantasy romance, Healer. I'm okay with that. She's busy with school and friends. All is good. A friend's son is an aspiring graphic designer so he has accepted the challenge to help build his portfolio. What he has presented so far looks great and I can't wait to reveal the cover.

While waiting for the cover, I joined Wattpad. If you aren't familiar with that forum, it's a FREE website/app which allows you to read works from authors all over the world. I've read several books on the site, many of which are in dire need of editing, but have enjoyed the stories presented. You can follow authors, comment and vote on chapters you like (votes lead to more readers, awards, etc.). Wattpad has multiple genres to choose from, so you can go wild. If you want to check out my work, it's under taseitz.

Don't worry. I will still publish the normal way when I finish this final edit and get the cover.

That's all for now! Have a great weekend!
T.

Control Freak

I have another confession. This will come as a surprise to many, but I am a control freak.

I know. I know. Most women are. I'm a little different in that I only want to know what's going on so I can go about my merry business with an understanding of the world around me. I don't particularly want to make decisions or tell others what to do (with the exception of mi espouso).

In many ways, this need to know gets me in some deep trouble. Trouble like others-see-me-as-a-leader type trouble. I don't want to lead. I'm a happy camper as a good ole follower. My opinions are simply my opinions and no one should ever trust that I know what I'm doing or where I'm going (I think that was mentioned in detail in my 2nd/3rd blog post, I am Cursed.) All I ask is that you keep me in the loop on all the juicy gossip (whoops! I meant important facts pertaining to my existence.)

So why, one might ask, is this information relevant on a chilly Texas evening? Well...my books are being purchased.

The curious-minded individual might randomly inquire, "T, I thought that was what you wanted. You published your books so people would a) buy them, and b) read them, and c) review them."

Well kind, curious-minded individual, you would be correct. I did, in fact, publish my little book babies for the very reasons listed above; however, (and this is the kicker) I DON'T KNOW WHO THESE PEOPLE ARE! (hyperventilate, BREATHE, gasp, BREATHE)

I know it's insane, but I had an expectation/delusion that someone would buy a book and we would have a lovely discussion about said book over tea and cookies. That is mostly what happened until recently. Someone would make a purchase, tell me when they received and/or read it, and we would discuss it. The conversations usually occurred via text or message rather than high tea, but rest assured a cup of God's nectar was near at hand on my end. Some conversations resulted in lovely 4 and 5 star reviews, some didn't but I knew what each person thought of my work and that was important to me. I grew from each conversation. (I have received one 3 star review. It's not a bad review, but I'm trying to wrap my pea-brain around it. How's that for full disclosure?)

So now, people are buying my work and I'm not getting feedback and I don't know who these people are to ask their opinion. It's driving me nuts! So, please, if you have one of my little book babies in your possession, be kind and let me know what you think. I'll make tea.

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.

A Smile for Noelle

"I want to watch Anastasia, Mimi! Please!"

"Just a moment, Hannah, let me finish feeding Gaga." Noelle sighed. There was never a moment of peace. Not even on her birthday.

She ignored the hurt. No one remembered it was her birthday. Not even Mom.

"But I want to watch it now." whined the four-year-old.

Her only grandchild was not known for patience. With a frustrated groan, Noelle gave into the demand and tossed the spoon back into the cooling mashed potatoes. Mom would have to wait for her next bite, not that she would notice.

Noelle quickly put in the requested video, wondering how many times one child could watch a single movie. Apparently one more time. If watching an animated movie on repeat kept the girl entertained, then maybe Noelle could get Mom settled and finish wrapping the Christmas gifts.

Mission accomplished, Noelle turned to see her mother sitting unmoved in her seat. A vacant stare settled into the familiar hazel eyes. The vibrant, intelligent and fiercely independent woman who had raised Noelle alone was gone. Alzheimer's had stolen the woman she knew and loved and missed terribly, leaving a shell which required constant care.

She could rely on no one else to provide that care. There was no other family and the thought of a nursing home made her shudder. Mom's body was as frail as her mind. In addition to the vacant eyes and lack of mobility, Mom's thin arms were tightly locked into her chest. Any attempts to move or position the arms were met with angry, non-verbal cries of pain and resistance. One occupational therapist had suggested giving Mom a soft baby doll to hold. The suggestion was worth trying, after all Mom had worked in the church nursery for over fifty years.

Now was as good a time as any. Noelle looked past Hannah to a pile of toys. No baby dolls there. Then she remembered; Santa was bringing Hannah a special doll and it sat at the top of the closet. With the child engrossed in the movie, she would never know one of her presents was being used in an experiment.

"Here you go, Mom. Here's your baby."

She looked toward the voice, but the face of a kind woman was blurred. She must be the nurse.

A baby? Yes. After all of the waiting, she had a child to hold. It seemed like yesterday that she and Jethro said their vows, followed by goodbye a few days later. A uniformed man returned a few months ago to report Jethro's death on a French battlefield. His baby would make up for his loss. Now she finally held that baby in her arms.

A baby birl. She felt her angel Jethro stand over her shoulder, viewing her Christmas present from him. She was so blessed.

"Noelle."

Noelle turned at the unexpected sound of her name. The readiness which Mom had accepted the doll surprised her. The withered arms had taken the toy without resistance. She had  watched her mother relax and begin to rock in her seat, cradling the doll to her like a real infant.

Now, she witnessed a look of pure joy transform the normally blank face. What could possibly be going through that lost mind? "Mom?"

Teary eyes turned toward her. "Baby."

"Yes, Mom, that's your baby." The experiment seemed to be successful. Now Noelle needed to find the money to replace the Hannah's Santa gift. With three days left to Christmas, that would be no easy task. Finances were tight and shopping while caring for a young child and an elderly parent was next to impossible. Yet there was no way she was going to take the doll from her mother.

"Baby Noelle."

A bright smile, accompanied by a tear, lit her mother's wrinkled face as she continued to rock her doll.

Noelle stood with tears coursing down her face as she realized that maybe Mom remembered her birthday after all.

Grave Digger

Yesterday promised to be a great day, but deserves a do-over from the get-go.

Yesterday the rabbit died.

No, not that rabbit. Our last remaining pet rabbit, Lil Joe. He was an adorably soft mini rex who lived to the ripe old age of 5. That's good for a small, long-eared rodent. He was Myrtle the Younger's baby. With that said, I can honestly say I am thrilled to be out of the bunny care business. Give me a dog any day (just not one that yaps incessantly).

My day started in its usual manner (moaning, groaning, ignoring the alarm, etc) and I dragged my lazy carcass out of bed to find Lil Joe in early stages of rigor mortis. Yippee. Fortunately it was a Saturday. Unfortunately it was a busy Saturday during the Christmas season. I sent a quick text to a friend I was supposed to meet for breakfast and set about informing Myrtle the Younger of the family tragedy and finding a coffin for said bunny (a toner box worked really well). In the meantime MTY decides that her pet needs to be buried with his sister, Livvy, and his older Californian brother, Macamacadon (I didn't name these rabbits) on Mimi's property. Okay, I didn't plan a 3 hour road trip today, but no biggie.

So, I continue with the established plan of the day which included a Christmas tea at our church with Mimi, following which Myrtle and I picked up the coffin and drove down to Mimi's to conduct an appropriate burial. We stopped for dinner, where I got out of my car and promptly rammed my shin into the trailer hitch extending about 18 inches from the back a big ass truck. Only a few curse words were delicately thrown into the universe.

We eventually proceeded to the farm. By then it was dark, so we chose a burial site close to where the house lights could help us out. Now we are talking about a Texas evening in early December here: dark, chilly, windy, digging in thick Texas black clay soil. After chiseling for a moment, we hit what I think is a bed liner that my mother or grandmother had used in the old flower bed. I was incorrect.

Out of 50 acres, we had to dig in the spot that Miss Hissy was  buried. Yea! I can hear that damn cat hissing at me from beyond the grave.

So, we cover up the cat, move a few feet over and proceed to chisel and scrape our way to a barely deep enough grave to cover one toner box stuffed with bunny. Task complete. I hurt but nothing that a bucket of pain meds can't help.

On a good note, on the drive home, Myrtle got to experience a Christmas classic, Santa Claus and His Old Lady by Cheech and Chong.

Let the holidays commence!

T

Lottery?

I need to buy a lottery ticket. Today.

Why? Because about 2 months ago, my poor little Subaru was hit by a motorcycle (no injuries except to my Subie and the bike) and after some serious waiting, I finally got my Subie into the collision shop for repairs and I get a new set of wheels to knock around for a few weeks.

Before we continue, let me just say I love my Subies. This is my 3rd and I tend to drive their little wheels off. I got my first one because of the safety and reliability ratings; the next 2 were bought because it's a damn fun car to drive. (Dear Subaru, I anxiously await my referral check.)

That said, I was resigned to accept whatever mid-sized vehicle the rental company allowed me to have. So there I stand at 7:45 am, with an uncaffienated brain, waiting for my rental, only to learn...they are fresh out of mid-sized vehicles. Not only that, they are out of vehicles. Period.

Mind you, this appointment has been 2 months in the making. Mi espouso contacted the shop yesterday and was assured that all was ready for me to waltz in with my poor little Subie and drive away with...something else.

Did I mention I was uncaffienated? For some, this might mean a full-on melt down, but I stand there going "what?". Before the news fully runs the circuit of my disconnected brain cells, the poor child and her manager are hunting me up one mid-sized vehicle.

They must have had a run on mid-sized vehicles, because there be none to be had.

Seriously? But wait! "I'm sorry,  ma'am, we can't get you a mid-sized car, but we can get you a Camaro. Will that be okay?"

Uhm...let me think...Hell yes! Oh, wait. Is it red? Never mind. I'll take it.

So Mr. Manager toodles off to pick up MY Camaro while I sit and wait in the rental office. About 2 seconds before MY Camato arrives, some idiot returns a mid-sized car. "Ma'am, I can let you have this Altima if you prefer."

Are you kidding me?!!? Oh. Hell. No. (I politely declined.)

Subie? What Subie? I am cool. Now all I need is a winning lotto ticket to stay that way.

T