The Voices in My Head

Don’t worry, I’m a writer: We’re supposed to hear voices. The trouble comes when there are just so many of them. I am to the point of actually plotting out a career path for myself. Sure, luck will have a big say in it, probably a bigger say than even I have, but there are a few decisions I can make. Most notably, what kind of writer do I want to be? What kind of stories do I want to tell? Because really, there are lots of different kinds of stories floating around in my head. My novel, the completed and polished one that has my heart all over its pages, is a fantasy romance. And even that label isn’t sufficient, but labels never are, so that one is close enough. But I also have a straight contemporary romance that is completed but not polished. And there’s a paranormal time travel romance (whew, talk about your layered plot) that won’t get out of my head. So now I am faced with the decision of where to focus. I suppose I could take the approach of just throwing stuff at a wall and seeing what sticks, but my time is limited. Right now, I’m working on the business end of my fantasy romance, which is tentatively titled Star of Prophecy. I’m doing the query, agent and editor research, and proposal work for that one, and that takes a different part of my brain than straight creative work. So even though the business work on Star is my top priority, I have a need to create as well, and have to make time for that. So the big question is … which story do I tell? I suspect lots of writers have this problem, and maybe lots of them write many different kinds of stories. But I also know that readers get used to certain types of stories from authors and get frustrated when authors go off on what readers perceive to be tangents. As a reader, I’m the same way. I want Patricia Cornwell to stick to Scarpeta novels, Janet Evanovich to stay firmly in Stephanie Plum’s head, and I want Diana Gabaldon to be the scribe for Jamie and Claire exclusively. No, this isn’t fair, to expect writers to limit themselves, but hey, life is not fair. So, that leaves me with the question, now what? Do I draw characters from a hat? Try to write a little on everything? Go ahead and have that nervous breakdown I so richly deserve?

Finished-- Again!

How many times now have I gleefully announced that my manuscript is finished? Many, many times. And likely, this isn’t the last time, but once again, hurray! The book is finished! Any excuse for a margarita, right? Honestly, I am so sick of this manuscript this time, I have no desire to go back to tweak story or grammar. It’s all done except for formatting and printing, which I’ll need Michael’s help with and which probably won’t get done until the weekend.
And I’m taking some online advice from published writers and researching editors based on the works of other authors whose books I have really liked and which can sort of be considered to be in a category with my own book. I’m sure I’ll manage to drag this process out well into next year because the whole idea of the business side of writing is just so dreadful a thought to me, but I do have a game plan for how to proceed. That counts for something, right?
So now, I must put in a new Baby Einstein movie and get back to procrastinating.

Enough Already!

I am officially tired of my manuscript. Not surprising, since I’ve been working on it for about four years now. I’m just about to finish my final read through, then it’s on to the query, synopsis, and other torments. I have so many ideas for books, and a few that have a good chance of actually being written, but I can’t write when I only get a random hour here or there. Unfortunately, I need a bit more structure than that. Structure with a toddler is impossible. I’m looking into hiring a babysitter to come here one day a week while I get some writing done.
Believe it or not, I’m actually looking forward to writing the query and getting this manuscript on its way to publication. I’m terrified, sure, but ready. And despite my being tired of this story, it is still a damn good story.
I’ve read many books that I wonder how they ever got published. I console myself by realizing that an editor somewhere liked this book and no doubt a lot of readers did to. What makes the author of those books worthy of publication is that they stuck with it. They overcame the fear and they sent out their manuscript. Even if I didn’t like their books, I admire the writers for that. So, that’s my plan. Just keep at it until somebody sees the value in my story. And in the meantime, I’ll write other things. Assuming I find a babysitter.

I'm Ba-ack

I have been woefully neglectful of this blog, but I’m okay with that. What with having my first baby and all, things have been a little busy around here. But Sprout is fourteen months old now, and I get a little (and I mean little) more time at the computer these days. Most of that time, I have been spending on my manuscript, which is now completely edited and in one document. Now all I have to do is check the formatting, add page numbers, and do one more final beginning-to-end read through and I’ll consider it ready to go. Go where? Well, that’s a hairy question. As I work on my query and synopsis—odious tasks indeed—I’ll also be researching agents and editors. This is the business part of writing, which I hate. Actually, everybody hates it, so I take some sick solace in that. If every other writer manages to overcome the synopsis-induced Malays and actually get published then surely I can too. So I’m taking over this blog again with a few goals in mind.
First, I want to keep an accounting of my writing. I suspect nobody is reading this blog, so it’s not like there’s any pressure. Second, I’d like to connect with a community of writers, so I’m gearing up to do NaBloPoMo this year, which I believe is in November. And finally, I’m warming up to the idea of letting the world know that I am a romance writer, and this is a very low-key, the-pressure’s-off way of doing that. I suppose that once I actually get an editor and a contract, I’ll do a different blog that’s heavy on promotion. All in good time. Right now, it’s time for me to reclaim that writer part of myself and this blog is one of the ways I’ll do that.

Puzzling

Yesterday, while we were on one of our first outings with Sprout, Michael spotted a motorcycle with a handicap license plate. Hmmm. What disability would allow a person to both qualify for a handicap plate and drive a motorcycle? Really, I’ve thought and thought about this but can’t come up with anything. Michael said it’s like those old women who park in the handicap spaces at the mall and then go in to power walk. I’m sorry, but that’s just wrong.

Anticipation

I realize this blog has been a little all-baby all-the-time lately, and to my five loyal readers, I apologize for that. Michael and I have embarked on a joint blogging venture called Adventures in Sprouting. If you aren’t sick of the baby stuff and want to check it out, go here.
I will blog about other things soon, but right now, there is nothing else on my mind as the C-section is scheduled for tomorrow. Tomorrow! Can you believe it? This time tomorrow, I will be a mommy. Just pick an adjective, that’s how I feel; overwhelmed, excited, terrified, unprepared, you name it. So, I likely won’t be blogging here for a week or so. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me on this blog for the last few months. We will return to regularly scheduled programming soon, I promise.

Sibling Rivalry

The following is a discussion Michael and I had last night on the topic of sibling rivalry:

Michael (about his younger brother): “Nobody ever remembers the stuff he did to provoke me. Every time I’d finally had enough and threw a rock at him or something, that’s when the bus would come and there he’d be with blood dripping down his face. That’s the part everybody remembers.”
Me (sarcastically): “Who could blame you? I mean, you were provoked.”
Michael (in all seriousness): “It wasn’t that I was violent, I was just really accurate.”

This has got me thinking maybe just the one kid is enough.

Book Review: "Sepulchre" by Kate Mosse

“Sepulchre” is the second offering by British author Kate Mosse. The book parallels the lives of Leonie, a young French woman living in 1891 Paris, and Meredith Martin, a young American woman visiting France in the early 21st century to research a biography she is writing about composer Claude Debussy, as well as her own mysterious family heritage.
I should have loved this book. Setting is almost as important to me as character, and in “Sepulchre,” Mosse revisits Carcassonne, territory she first trod in “Labyrinth,” now in paperback. Both books weave together two time periods to great effect. Like setting, the device of parallel characters in different time periods, known as time-slip, is a favorite of mine. Another favorite thing of mine is the Tarot cards (the Empress in this blog title refers to the Empress card in the Tarot.), which are featured prominently in “Sepulchre,” adding to the reasons I should have really loved this book. And yet …
Let’s begin in 1891. “Sepulchre” begins in a cemetery following the supposed death of the mistress of Anatole, Leonie’s brother. It takes a while into the book before that scene makes sense as the starting point of the book, but the death of Anatole’s lover is at the heart of the drama. It takes a while for the action of the book to get moving, which doesn’t really find its feet until an invitation arrives for Anatole and Leonie to visit their late uncle’s widow, Isolde, at her estate, Domain de la Cade, near the spa town of Rennes-les-Bains in southwest France. Leonie notices strange behavior on the part of her brother, who leaves a trail of misinformation and makes switchbacks on their journey out of Paris. We know he is being pursued, but we don’t know why or by whom. When the pair finally arrives safely at Domain de la Cade, we know too that Anatole’s relationship with their widowed aunt is more than familial. The reader surmises this, but it takes Leonie a ridiculous amount of time to catch on. Actually, she never does, but instead has to have the nature of the relationship spelled out for her by Anatole. Don’t be thinking incest here though: Aunt Isolde is the much younger wife of Leonie and Anatole’s uncle. Isolde’s relationship to her late husband was one of convenience and companionship rather than love and adoration.
While Meredith Martin is visiting Paris in the present day, a chance Tarot reading reveals more about herself than about her research subject, Claude Debussy, and firms her resolve to visit Rennes-les-Bains and research the unknown history of her birth family. With the deck of Tarot cards in hand, Meredith leaves Paris and becomes a guest at the Hotel Domain de la Cade. She immediately begins seeing strange visions of a young, copper-haired woman with green eyes who appears to be urging her to act. She later learns the woman’s identity—Leonie Vernier. She comes to realize that uncovering the mystery of Leonie might well answer Meredith’s own questions about her family.
Mosse’s descriptions of the town and countryside surroundings of Rennes-les-Bains are amazingly vivid, capturing the feel of the place as well as its beauty. The region should hire her as head of its tourism division, because I want nothing so much now as to visit the area. This setting and Mosse’s descriptions of it are what kept me reading the book. I must say here that of course, I listened to the unabridged audio version of the book. I found the narrator’s voice captivating, both in “Sepulchre” and in “Labyrinth,” and now I want to learn to speak French. A few characters from the earlier book make an appearance in “Sepulchre,” though it isn’t necessary to have read “Labyrinth” first. It’s just a nice spark of recognition when you remember that you’ve met this or that character before.
The book’s troubles begin when while visiting Carcassonne for a concert, Leonie defies her brother’s strict entreaty that she remain nearby. In a turn all too common for Mosse’s heroines, and all too infuriating for Mosse’s readers, Leonie ignores her brother’s warnings. For what purpose? So that she can be the feisty young heroine I suppose. She gets caught in a storm and takes shelter in a church, where the charming yet dangerous Victor, who we learn is the book’s villain, finds her and gleans from her information that will lead him to Isolde, with whom he had a previous affair, an affair so horrific and devastating that Isolde and Anatole saw no escape except to fake Isolde’s death—the opening scene in the cemetery.
I can think of at least five other plot devices, all of them less contrived and more believable, to get Victor to the Domain De La Cade and thereby heighten the tension, that don’t leave Leonie looking like an irredeemable ditz. I recalled this same plot device being employed in Labyrinth, and it nearly ruined that story for me as well. In my opinion, the character of Leonie never recovered from the author’s mishandling of her in that scene. Contrivances abound in this book, both in character motivation and in dialogue.
The sepulchre that gives the book its title is an ancient Visigoth sepulchre on the grounds of the Domain de la Cade that is rumored to have housed a demon that was once released into the countryside by Isolde’s late husband. The sepulchre is the stage for the final showdown between Leonie and Victor, a showdown that occurs after nearly everything is lost to Leonie. In Meredith’s time, the current owner of the Hotel Domain De La Cade, Julian Lawrence, has spent his fortune searching for the original Tarot cards that will lead him to the Visigoth treasure that is thought to be buried on the hotel grounds. He is an evil, twisted man as well, the modern incarnation of Victor.
Meredith must race against time to find the cards before Julian does. It is the only way she can save herself and free Leonie from her ghostly existence.
“Sepulchre” held my interest, albeit with no small amount of eye rolling. In the end, my recommendation is that if you like France as a setting, haunting ghost stories, and epic tales of intrigue, you will like this book. Just don’t let your expectations run away with you. I suggest getting it in paperback though or borrowing it from the library. Its shortcomings make it unlikely to be a favorite reread.

What we said we wouldn't do

I am in the throws of pregnancy. What’s more, I now get to really indulge myself in it. My doctor, due to some very low-level concerns about my elevated blood pressure, has called a halt to me working. Fine by me. Working all day long, day after day, was starting to get difficult. So now I’m at home all day and find myself wandering into the nursery, petting baby clothes, sniffing baby lotion, and practicing raising and lowering the rails on the crib. As I walk around the room, I realize that what Michael and I swore wouldn’t happen, has indeed happened. We have fallen prey to the baby industrial complex.
We promised ourselves we wouldn’t. We scoffed—actually scoffed—at people who by at least one of absolutely every product marketed for babies. I mean really-- did we need a bouncy seat, swing, and a bassinette? No, we did not. But that’s what we’ve got. I try to console myself that two of those three things were gifts, but we did register for them. Once the doctor told us Sprout might come early, we sort of freaked a little. We went to Nashville to Babies R Us (it’s like they knew we were coming, probably the overwhelming smell of sucker, A.K.A. new parents) and bought anything and everything that we could ever maybe possibly need. We got the afore mentioned bassinette (we did have a coupon), a rocking chair (it was 20% off), a sling, and a crib set. Okay, I’ve got no justification for those last two. I know the sling makes us look like those overprotective attachment parent types, but I really think it is the safest way for me to carry the baby. And we got one that Michael and I both can wear. Honestly, I’m sort of jazzed about the sling. Maybe it stems from my love of bags and purses. What is a sling after all but a bag to carry a baby in? Plus, it’ll make me feel more confident carrying Sprout. I have nightmares about bumping his soft, not-completely-formed head on the corner going from the living room into the hallway.
The crib set though … $179 for a crib set? Yeah, we were over the top on that one. Even if it did come with curtains, that was too much money for what amounts to decoration. It is a beautiful crib set though. It has a great big moon and stars and it goes perfect with the paint and carpet. But $179? I know, I know. I managed to live most of my life without even knowing what a diaper stacker was, then suddenly, I just have to have one? It’s insanity I tell you, there’s no other explanation for it.
The upside of all this is that we are now ready for the baby to come. The furniture is all put together, the room is decorated, the rocking chair is ready and waiting. And though perhaps not priceless, the sense of relief I feel at that is worth a lot. Given the insane temperatures lately, it isn’t like I’ll be going out to do more shopping. I’ll just set the rocking chair by an air-conditioning vent, sip lemonade, and wait for motherhood to find me.

Whining

Did you miss me? I haven't blogged in a while. On Friday, Michael and I both took off work to get some things done around the house, and good thing we did. I also had my baby doctor appointment that day, where my doctor, after examining me, said that he felt sure I would go into labor earlier than expected, substantially earlier. Yeah, I know, doctors say that all the time and it often doesn't happen. But for a psycho planner like me, that was chilling news indeed. Due to my medical history, we have decided on a planned C-section, which we have already scheduled. It is in three weeks. Three weeks, I said. But according to my doctor, Sprout didn't get the memo about the schedule. I just knew this kid was going to turn my life upside down. So needless to say, Michael and I spent the weekend doing all the things that we thought we have plenty of time to do. The nursery is now ready, except for a few decorative touches that I'm very little concerned with just now. I have packed my hospital bag, mostly, and I washed the five million baby outfits and blankies that we have gotten. Certainly, there is still stuff to be done, but I've made a list and schedule for those things.
In addition to the frantic activity over the past week, I have just become downright huge. Well maybe not huge, but my belly definitely precedes me when I enter a room. And my feet are swelling. I know it happens to every pregnant woman, but I'm not every pregnant woman, I'm me and I'm just going to whine about it for a minute. Okay. All done. Thanks for indulging me. Thus far, I have been consoling myself with ice cream, which has been surprisingly helpful. It's supposed to hit ninety degrees here tomorrow, which means I should probably stock up on more ice cream.
Thanks to some budget-based restructuring fallout at work, I have a new boss. I think this will work out fine, although the timing certainly could have been better. I had rather hoped just to coast until going on maternity leave, but the new boss has given me a big, research-intensive assignment. And this at a time where I can't manage to wrangle and hold one single thought in my head. So yeah, there's a little stress there too. Just when I get the stress under control, another Braxton-Hicks contraction will hit, sending me into super panic mode again.
So really, I'm sorry for all the whining I'm doing here, but I felt like getting all these fears down and out would be beneficial. We'll see. But make no mistake, I am absolutely thrilled at the prospect of meeting my baby boy. I'm just a little terrified too.

Momentous

May marks the one-year anniversary of this blog. Not that, you know, that's such a huge deal, but I thought it warranted a mention. What is a huge deal is that today, I got to cast my vote for a woman for President of the United States. I know that Hillary's chances look slim, but I can't tell you how much I appreciate her staying in the race long enough for me to have the opportunity to vote for her. A lot of people say she's hurting the party by remaining in the race. Let me tell you something: If the democratic process hurts the party, then it isn't much of a party to begin with. Politics is changing, and the old farts and the media need to accept that. I think the country is better for having had a real, honest-to-goodness primary race. No matter how you voted, if you live in Kentucky and voted today, then your vote was a momentous one. Well, if you're a Democrat anyway. If you're a Republican, then congratulations, you got to vote for another old white guy. Don't you feel just grand?
Kentuckians almost never get a say in Presidential nominees, but voting in this primary was particularly gratifying. Actually, I am always gratified by getting to vote. I am a blind woman. For most of this country's history, I would have been denied the right to vote, but not anymore. Today, I went to my polling place, chatted with the nice poll workers, and was shown to a talking voting booth that I could use independently. Independently! There is much wrong with our country, much that I hope our next President will work to fix, but today, I voted. Independently! Even ten years ago, that was not a possibility. It's proof that things can change. Think about this: A blind woman voted at a talking voting machine and had the option to cast her ballot for a woman or for an African American. How can you read that sentence and not feel a sense of national pride? It isn't often that I feel optimistic about the United States, but I absolutely did this morning.
If you live in Kentucky, please get out and vote today. And no matter where you live, if your reason for not voting has to do with your registration or some such technicality, please make it a point to rectify the situation by November. We have all heard time and time again that people fought and died for our right to vote. I think we hear it so much it's a cliché, meaningless. But I know the meaning. Today, I voted independently, and it meant a hell of a lot to me.

Another Random Friday

I have very little in the way of interesting stuff to write about today, but Michael said he likes to read my blog while he's eating his lunch, so I'm feeling some pressure here to make my husband happy. He is after all, about 20% of my regular readership. Sweetie, be warned: Keep your expectations low.
Michael's 8-month-old niece had to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance yesterday after she fell off the bed onto the hardwood floor. Thankfully, she is fine. A CT scan showed nothing out of the ordinary, but what a terrifying few hours. I know her mother is feeling a great deal of guilt, but seriously, this kind of thing could happen to anybody, and frequently does. I wake up at night in a cold sweat that I will do something that will end up harming my baby. Mostly I worry about this because I am blind, but I realize accidents happen to children of all kinds of parents. What I learned from this is to never put my baby on the bed. No doubt, that is the point at which Sprout will decide it's time to learn to roll over or crawl. I'm only setting my kid down in things that have safety straps or side rails.
The other night, between the time I got home and the time I went to bed, I ate a slice of Black Forest cake that my mother made me for Mother's Day, a double cheeseburger and fries from Sonic, and a pint of butter pecan ice cream. No kidding, I am now officially huge.
I have never seen an Indiana Jones movie. I think we might rent at least the first one this weekend. I won/t be seeing the new movie at the theater because I hate movie theaters (too cold and too loud), but a favorite author of mine, James Rollins, has been commissioned to write the novelization of the upcoming Indiana Jones movie. I generally think making a book out of a movie is stupid, but it kind of works for me. I'll get far more out of that than today's special effects-heavy blockbusters. And I think the book comes out next week, so I guess I need to figure out what this Indiana Jones business is about. Yes, I am an old person.
Tuesday is Kentucky's Presidential primary. For the first time in a long time, my state will actually have a say in who gets elected. I can't wait to vote!
This month marks the one year anniversary of this blog. As this post will attest, this blog is somewhat directionless. I've kicked around the idea of starting another blog, one that would have a narrower focus, but as I'm not sure what that focus would be, I'll probably just stick to spewing out disconnected thoughts here. I hope that's okay with my five readers. How does one increase one's blog readership anyway? And do I really even care? Yes, it's life's big questions that I'm pondering today folks.
Well, that's it for this Friday's edition of mind-numbing boredom. Join me back here next week when I explore the question: "Why do I have even five readers?"

Thursday Thirteen: Things that Really Annoy Me

1. Diane Sawyer-- Really, I cannot stand her. She asks questions like, "So how did you feel when your child was violently murdered?" Well gee Diane, I bet it put something of a damper on her day. Good grief woman, quit fishing for melodrama already. You are just such an after school special.
2. When people tell me how incredibly busy they are-- If you have the time to tell me how busy you are, you probably aren't that busy.
3. Getting coupons in the mail the day before they expire-- This has been happening to us a lot lately, and really, I would have like that 10% off a breast pump.
4. Rap music blaring from a piece-of-shit car with rattley speakers-- Admittedly, I don't like being forced to listen to the musical selections of others while waiting at stoplights, no matter what the music is, but really, it does tend to be rap an overwhelming percentage of the time. And that rattley speaker noise just makes the roots of my hair hurt.
5. When people that I have not spoken to or thought about in more than a decade come up to me and say "Hey, I bet you don't know who I am, do you?" Well, you're an asshole, and that's pretty much all I need to know.
6. Disney-- I have adopted Molly's stand on Disney. Michael has been reading a story to the baby every night, and unfortunately the majority of the books we have so far are Disney. First, Bambi's mother got killed, then there was Pinocchio, then last night was the cruelty heaped on poor little Dumbo. I just couldn't handle it and we had to stop reading only a few pages in. I just can't take it when people are mean to babies right now. I'm very emotional just now. Disney, I hate you.
7. When our entire neighborhood decides to mow their lawns on Sunday morning-- It's loud, it stirs up my allergies, and it makes us feel guilty about the unruly weed field that is our yard.
8. Wow, looks like I've got some aggression issues today, huh?
9. When my local Barnes and Noble doesn't have a book I've been waiting for on the day of its release. Or worse, when they have the print book, but not the audio book. Or worse still, when the only audio book edition they have is abridged. I swear off our local Barnes and Noble on a monthly basis.
10. When it's cold and rainy in May-- We've been getting a lot of this lately.
11. When people offer to help with something and then seem surprised or even affronted when you actually give them something to do.
12. When visitors drop in without calling. I am likely to mistake you for a Jehovah's Witness if you visit without calling on a Saturday morning, and let me assure you, the ensuing scene will not be pretty.
13. Jehovah's Witnesses-- Really, does this one require an explanation?

Baked Orzo

Here’s a recipe that we tried for the first time last night. I got it off Food Network's “Everyday Italian.” Here’s a link to the recipe online. It was a hearty pasta dish that was made interesting by peas and mushrooms. NOTE: Next time, I’ll probably double the amount of mushrooms because they really make the dish. If you do that, I assume you’d have to adjust the butter and Marsala wine accordingly. Also, it calls for fresh mozzarella and fontina cheeses. Doubtless, it would be better that way, but groceries are wicked expensive right now, and this being my first time with this recipe, I opted for the substantially cheaper Italian blend of shredded cheeses. If I were making this for company, I’d definitely get the better cheese.

Baked Orzo with Fontina and Peas

4 cups chicken broth
1 pound orzo pasta
3 tablespoons butter, plus more to grease the baking dish
1 onion, chopped
8 ounces mushrooms, sliced
1 cup Marsala wine
1/2 cup heavy cream
4 ounces shredded fontina cheese (about 1 cup)
4 ounces diced fresh mozzarella cheese (about 1 cup)
1 cup frozen peas, thawed
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup bread crumbs
1/4 cup grated Parmesan
1 teaspoon dried thyme
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Butter a 9 by 13-inch baking dish. Bring the chicken broth to a boil over medium-high heat in a medium saucepan. Add the orzo and cook until almost tender, about 7 minutes. Pour the orzo and the broth into a large bowl. Set aside. Meanwhile, melt the butter over medium heat in a medium skillet. Add the onions and sauté until tender, about 3 minutes. Add the mushrooms and continue to saute until the mushrooms are beginning to turn golden around the edges, about 7 minutes. Add the Marsala. Scrape the brown bits off the bottom of the pan and cook until the Marsala has reduced by half, about 5 minutes. Add the mushroom mixture to the orzo in the large bowl. Add the cream, fontina, mozzarella, peas, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine. Pour the mixture into the prepared baking dish. In a small bowl combine the bread crumbs, Parmesan, and dried thyme. Sprinkle the bread crumb mixture on top of the pasta. Bake until golden, about 25 minutes. Enjoy.

I am about to begin cooking and freezing meals for Michael and me to eat after the baby comes. If I don't do this, the temptation to just order pizza or run out for fast food will be too overwhelming. Even with a store of healthy meals, there will probably be a lot of fast food consumed. So if anyone has any recipes, cookbooks, or websites that contain freezer-friendly recipes, I'd appreciate the suggestion. You know what that means: It's time to pull out those casserole recipes. Thanks.

A Bad Week, Cholesterol, and Cell Phone Etiquette

So here's another collection of random thoughts from me. Actually, most of my thoughts of late have been of the random variety because this has been the week from hell. Hell, I tell you! There is a pretty nasty budget cut situation going on at work that directly impacted my department but thankfully, not my job. Not yet anyway. That situation brought on one screamer of a headache that kept me down for about two days, two days that I really did not have to spare. Because we are not mentally sound people, Michael and I are involved in a home upgrade project, right here when we're six weeks away from having a baby. This week was the worst of it though, which I'm pretty sure I have been saying every week for two months now. But the carpet layers came this week and that part of the nightmare is over. for now. That finishes up all the indoor work except for the nursery. The backyard is still a giant mud pit, but we're getting to that.
We got Garnet, my 13-year-old black Lab, a new collar. It's pink with silver reflective paw prints on it. It is too precious and she loves it. She's always worn the training collar, standard apparel for a service dog, but she's started using the jingling sound that collar makes to her advantage. My dog has a very devious mind. When she doesn't think we are attending to her needs fast enough-- say, in the middle of the night-- she does that flappy head and ear thing usually reserved for shaking off water. The end result is that she wakes me up several times a night with the collar jingling. So we're putting this new canvass collar on her at night, but putting the training collar back on her during the day. Like I said, she's devious, and knows that I can't hear her without the jingle jingle of the training collar, so she uses this to her advantage. "Garnet, come. Garnet, come! Garnet, get over here damn it!!!" All the while, she's sitting about five feet from me, smirking. Really, she smirks. But she really does love her new collar, so much so that I have trouble getting the old training collar back on her in the mornings. Anyway, so I want to take a picture of Garnet with her snazzy new collar, but as you might imagine, Blinkie here ain't so good with the picture takin'. So I'm going to see if Michael can get to that this weekend, you know, in between the pressing yard work, nursery readying, and Mother's Day. I told you this was the week from hell.
We have not been grocery shopping in ten days. Now, I realize that that's standard for some people, but not for us. We don't eat out a lot, preferring to cook at home and take our lunches to work. We just haven't had time for grocery shopping this week. Well, we probably did but I had that killer headache I mentioned, and then last night, well it was raining, and who wants to go grocery shopping in the rain. Anyway, so for breakfast this morning, instead of our usual healthy whole grain bagel or cereal, we went through the drive-thru at Hardee's. I got a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit and a large order of hash rounds. Yikes! But really, a cholesterol overdose was just the way to end this week, trust me. There is also the incredibly weird situation going on with my weight. I'm pregnant, as you might recall from my relentless mentioning of that fact, and I had my Ob appointment yesterday. I lost a fourth of a pound. What! Now, I am more conscious of what I eat right now than I ever have been at any point in my life, but I don't think you could say I'm really sacrificing. If I want ice cream (and I want it a lot let me assure you) then I have ice cream. Mmmmm, ice cream. Michael, maybe you had better pick up some ice cream on your way home. I'm pretty sure we're out. Wait, where was I? Right, my weight. So I lost eleven pounds early on in my pregnancy from the morning sickness, and since then have been gaining and losing in turn. Taken from my weight at my first appointment, I have gained a total of less than ten pounds during my pregnancy. Not bad. But I have also lost more weight overall than I have in a very long time. How fair is that? Some sick joke from the diet fairy? So, I figured that lost fourth of a pound entitled me to a sausage biscuit. Ah, I think we might have just hit on why diets never work for me.
One more thing, at the Ob's office yesterday, there were two people in the waiting room talking on cell phones at the same time. They kept getting louder and louder in an effort to talk over each other. Actually, there were way more than two people talking on cell phones, but these two were particularly annoying. It was like listening to Dueling Rednecks. Here's the thing people: No matter how far away the person you're talking to on the phone is, they can still hear you. It's sort of the point of a telephone. There is no need to shout! Really. Honestly. I'm sure about this. I realize the topic of cell phone etiquette is overdone and largely ignored, but let me say anyway that when you can leave the room to talk on your cell phone, then please do so. Your fellow doctor's office waiters will thank you.
So I hope everyone has a great weekend. Don't forget, it's Mother's Day on Sunday. If you forget, you'll never hear the end of it. Not officially a mom yet, I'm only asking for a cake. And really, I'd be asking for that cake regardless of it being Mother's Day. It's that fourth of a pound, you understand.

Derby Day Part II

I blogged on Friday about Derby Day. Little did I know tragedy would befall the race. The only filly in the race, Eight Belles ran impressively, ultimately finishing second to Big Brown. To recap, after crossing the finish line, eight Belles collapsed. I'm not sure how much of it the camera and thus the television audience saw, but the other horses made enough of a commotion to alert the commentators and announcers that something was amiss. Michael and I, like everybody I suspect, watched without a clue that what was going on would be as bad as it was. Announcers were cutting from one to another in attempt to keep coverage rolling while trying to find out what happened. Somebody snagged the veterinarian and they instantly cut to him. And this is when things really got horrific.
The vet said, live and on the air, that Eight Belles had suffered compound fractures to both front ankles, an extremely painful injury, and so had been euthanized on the track.
What?!? Did he just say euthanized? OMG! He did. He said euthanized.
I have to tell you, after just watching such a beautiful horse run like a champion, this was sad and jarring news indeed. In a horserace, you almost expect to see a horse get bumped and go down during a race, or even to see a jokey get thrown. It isn't pretty, but it happens. Horses, after all, are massive and powerful animals. But this? This news after the race is over? No, you don't expect that.
Naturally, the speculation started instantly. There have been calls for an investigation, as their should be, into the jockey, the race, the horse, the trainer, the health of the horse, etc. When something like this happens, no stone should be left unturned. Bring it on, I say. Except to those people who say a filly should not have been in the race. Um, hello. She finished second! If you want to question whether a horse should have been in the race, ask the question of the horse who came in last. I'm an equine feminist as well I suppose.
I must admit, this Derby made me regret my enthusiasm for horseracing. I felt a little ashamed that my interest might have somehow contributed to this tragedy. It is undeniably one of the saddest things I have seen in sports.
I do want to make one point, not about the race or the horse, but about public relations, being a pr practitioner myself. To the vet: doc, you do not announce the death of a horse five minutes after the Kentucky Derby. There is just no way to recover the festive atmosphere after that. If you are forced to make any statement at all, you just say that track officials are looking into the situation. True, but vague enough to keep the program moving along. Let me repeat: You do not announce the death of a horse immediately following the Kentucky Derby. I feel sure Churchill Downs will have just such a policy in place, oh, probably by yesterday.
For my part, this will forever color how I view horseracing and the Kentucky Derby.

Derby Day

As a Kentuckian, I feel a responsibility to mention Derby Day. To be honest, I have never been to the Derby, most Kentuckians haven't. We either can't afford it or choose to avoid the insane crowds. I live in the southern part of the Commonwealth, and am actually closer to Nashville, Tennessee than to Louisville. I think of Louisville as more of a Midwestern type city than a Southern one, except, of course, on Derby Day. On Derby Day, Louisville brings out its decorous sunhats, it's deceptively dainty-looking mint juleps, and puts on the Southern charm. This is not, in my experience, the Louisville of say, the first Saturday in October.
It is something to have such an international sporting event so close to where I live, I must admit. The Queen of England and several Arab princes, not to mention countless millionaires and celebrities, have come to Kentucky just because of our reputation for superior horses and for the spectacle that is Derby Day. I believe Hillary Clinton is due to be in attendance this year, with Eight Belles being her pick. The filly in the race is a good choice for the first woman to run for President. (Three fillies have previously won the Kentucky Derby.)
My family has honored a few Derby Day traditions, but they have been largely abandoned in recent years. We used to always have a cookout before the race and share in a pool to pick the winning horse. I am not bad at picking a good horse, which is owing to nothing more than sheer dumb luck, let me assure you. This year, I'm letting Hillary lead the way, and I'm going with Eight Belles. Probably, Michael and I will stop our Saturday chores (working in the yard and readying the nursery) long enough to watch some of the pre-race coverage and the three minutes of the actual race. And like always, I'll get a little misty when the University of Louisville Marching Band plays "My Old Kentucky Home" because how can you not? The state of my birth doesn't offer up very many points of pride: We are routinely near the bottom in things like funding for education and healthcare and near the top in things like smoking and drug use, but one thing we do know about is spectacle. Much of Derby Day is sickeningly sentimental, but I'd put money on mine not being the only teary eyes tomorrow as those magnificent horses parade proudly to the gate in their quest for immortal glory.

Thursday Thirteen: Thirteen Things about Me

1. I always hit elevator buttons twice. Maybe it's a trust issue.
2. I love movie soundtracks and movie trailers but rarely ever watch movies.
3. I have a love/hate relationship with socks. I love big warm woolly socks in winter, but can't wait to free my toes in spring.
4. Before leaving the house, I always check to see that the toaster is unplugged, even if nobody used the toaster that day.
5. I cannot judge amounts. Michael has to pour our morning breakfast cereal because I usually pour enough for six people. And I don't just do this with the cereals I like. I even do it with Michael's crappy healthy cereal.
6. I love purses, the cheaper the better. The less they cost the more of them I can buy.
7. My husband has exactly seven letters in all three of his names-- first, middle, and last. Who else but me would have bothered to count?
8. I am addicted to Chap Stick.
9. In knitting, I knit extremely loose with circulars and extremely tight with double pointed needles. I have to buy circulars at least one size smaller than a pattern calls for and dpn's at least one size larger.
10. I drink at least a liter of water everyday.
11. I have never had a cavity.
12. I am mortally, horrifically afraid of grasshoppers. Shiver.
13. I am a chronic station flipper when it comes to the car radio, and we have XM satellite radio, so this can get pretty annoying.
So that's thirteen random, quirky things about me. If you'd like to play Thursday Thirteen, just leave me a link to your list in the comments.

Adventures in Grocery Shopping

Grocery shopping is a weekly chore that neither Michael nor I particularly enjoy, but it must be done, so why belly ache about it. We try to make it interesting. For example, when I'm starting to get tired and frustrated, which usually happens somewhere around the cereal isle because I want Cookie Crisp or Cap'n Crunch and he insists on getting something healthy like Cheerios, he will often break the tension by countering some smart ass remark of mine by saying, too loudly, "Okay, we'll get Cap'n Crunch. Just don't hit me again!" That's really funny if you don't happen to be an elderly woman passing us in the isle who doesn't know us and only sees a frightened man and a pissed off looking blind woman.
So anyway, we were at the grocery store last night, and before we even got inside, we saw two ducks playing in a puddle in the parking lot. It really was precious. Precious too were the two toddlers yelling "Ducky!" and clapping and laughing as they watched them. Really sweet. It became less sweet however as they remained two isles behind us during the entire time we shopped, still shouting, "Ducky!"
Then Michael saw a really, really pregnant woman (he notices them now) and said, "Wow, she's really huge. And she's Indian. And she's in the ice cream isle. I guess that transcends cultures."
Ice cream, the great unifier.
Then as we were leaving the store, he saw another pregnant woman and said, "They're everywhere."
"Yes," I said, "we're multiplying."

Fair Weather Randomness

Michael and I were out together at midday yesterday, something that almost never happens through the week. I talked him into staying home and we went out to lunch and enjoyed the humidity-free warm day. We had a great time and made some interesting discoveries.
1. It takes less time to buy a car than to renew a cell phone contract. Seriously, we spent more time, went to more places, and got more sales person Bullshit while getting Michael a new cell phone than we endured when we bought our last car.
2. Women drive the economy. Almost everywhere we went, Michael was the only man in the place. There was one student on a laptop taking advantage of the free wifi at the cafe where we had lunch, but other than him, Michael was it. It leads me to the conclusion that in a lot of cases, stay-at-home moms do not stay at home. They are at BN or Kohl's or Target. I must admit that I am fascinated by stay-at-home moms. I don't know why, but I wonder about them-- what they do, how they live, etc. I wonder if there is some SAHM code of conduct to follow. The cafe we had lunch at has an indoor playground for kids, so we expected to see lots of moms there, and we did. One woman was in sweat pants and flip flops and her daughter was in shorts and sandals. That makes perfect sense to me. Then another woman, dressed in a pant suit, came in with her little girl in a sun dress and floppy hat-- to have lunch and slide on the slide. I don't get it. I realize that what I am trying to do is generalize a very diverse group, but they puzzle me.
3. This was just funny. Michael said, "I just don't understand people." I inquired what he was referring to and he said there was a woman sitting on the curb in front of her car outside the AT&T store, and clipping her toenails. WTF! I cannot think of a situation that would necessitate this action, but whatever.
So that's just a bit of Friday randomness from me. Have a good weekend.