How one thing leads to another

We've all heard the story about the woman who bought new decorator pillows for her sofa and ended up with a new furniture suite, new curtains, new carpet and freshly painted walls.

One thing does lead to another, as I've discovered. Saturday, I decided to clean the den. If you haven't seen my den, let me explain that it was intended to be a two-car garage but the builder decided mid-way to convert it to add more living space. It is a big room, big enough to hold both living room and dining room furniture and leave space to swing the cat. (Not that we do, I hasten to add.)

Anyway, I was washing all the cut glass bowls and knick-knacks I have sitting around on bookcases and the wall-length chest my Dad made when we moved here. It was originally planned to hold the kids' toys, but now that they have moved out, it holds our Christmas and other seasonal stuff.

After washing everything submersible, and dusting every surface, I looked at the windows and thought to myself that they could use a little cleaning. So I took down the curtains and threw them in the washing machine and tackled the windows. In between spraying glass cleaner and wiping the panes dry, I hung the curtains on the line. With the sun and breeze, they dried quickly. And wrinkly.

I finished the windows and swept the floor. My last chore was to iron the curtains and rehang them.

That's when the fun started. The bracket that held the topmost curtain rod had pulled loose and didn't want to go back.

I called Jim, and he concluded that the nail holes were too big and he needed to replace the nails with screws.

He needed a ladder. I had used the little kitchen step stool, and was just able to reach high enough to sort of fling the rod and hope it would slip into place, but he needed a little more height to aim his screwdriver.

So I trudged outside to fetch the eight-foot stepladder we keep under the deck. I didn't want to drag it up the deck stairs and through the kitchen, so I carried it around the house and in through the front door. In case you are wondering, Jim has a balance problem and should not be carrying stepladders around, so that is why the job fell to me.

I know, he shouldn't be climbing ladders either, but he got a little tetchy when I mentioned this. A wise woman  knows when to zipper the lip.

He got the bracket firmly secured and as insurance, redid the lower one as well.

While he was doing that, I got out the spray bottle again and washed the glass on a picture hanging by the window. If I hadn't been standing there watching Jim work, I wouldn't have realized how dirty it had gotten.

When he was finished, I rehung the curtains, took the ladder back outside, then came back inside and swept the floor again because -- did I mention we keep the ladder outside? -- because it dripped clumps of mud all over my clean floor.

So we have a clean room and everything is sparkly and the sun shines brightly through the spotless windows.

And since I have cleaned the den, maybe I ought to clean the living room next...







  

Mom was right

Something we should all remember is that nothing is lost in the vast, labyrinthic universe of the Internet.

Nothing.

This can be a good thing or a bad thing. Recently, I discovered it to be a very good thing, indeed.

I wanted to re-post an essay I'd written over a decade ago. I first published it on an a now-defunct website called "Cancer Can't" that I closed down when I became too lazy busy to  maintain it properly.

Several years and a few computers later, all traces of that website were erased -- at least on any devices I own. So I did a search, putting in the key words: my name, the website name, and the word "cancer."

And up it popped.

I was able to copy and paste it into a new blog, and was happy.

This was a fortunate outcome, but I'm afraid others may have a different, and not so happy, story.

Take the writer who reacted badly to a review she didn't agree with. that was re-posted to oh, probably a million people, making her not only look bad, but stopping her career before it started.

Or the pictures posted during a party at which you may have drunk a tiny bit too much, that no matter how you try, you can't erase. Ever.

Neither of those things happened to me, but I read about them and took them as cautionary tales.

Mom always said if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

Still good advice. The Internet is a great tool, but like a chainsaw, it can be unforgiving.

Oh, if you want to read the essay, it can be found at www.mimosamorningswriters.wordpress.com and scroll down to Oct. 2.

The next Big Thing

Woke up this morning and it is cold outside! I don't mind changes in the weather, but they ought to come softly, a degree or two at a time.

But nature doesn't work that way any more than life does. Things happen with the suddenness of a lightning bolt. One minute we're whistling Dixie and the next we're flat on our backs.

So I'm not complaining about a little drop in the temperature. Right now things are fine and I hope they will stay that way for awhile. Maybe the next Big Thing will be good or maybe it will be not-so-good.

When we're young, things like illness or the death of a loved one come as surprises. They're not supposed to happen.

Then you reach an age where such events are not welcome, but expected. That doesn't mean they hit any easier, but we're cushioned in a way that our tender younger selves weren't.

When we're young we confidently expect to earn that promotion or win that three-book contract. When the Good Big Thing doesn't happen, we're as crushed as if it were a real catastrophe.

The advantage of maturity is we now know the difference between disappointment and tragedy. And, hopefully, we can endure either with grace.

So I keep on keeping on and living each day as it comes. I know this is a plateau and that sooner or later the next Big Thing will turn my world upside down yet another time.

I hope it's Good Big Thing. And I wish the the same for you.

Decisions, decisions

Here it is Tuesday again. I'm pleased to announce I have finished my sequel and it is now being read by my favorite proofreaders/editors.

I'd celebrate by going outside and lopping some trees in the back yard, but it's 95 degrees out there and I'm not insane enough to venture forth. I did make a quick trip to the library, but hey, that's an emergency, right?

So while I wait for feedback, my plan is to re-visit an earlier work, send out a query or two, or maybe clean my work space, which has become a giant, teetering, pile of  papers, notebooks, files, and miscellany.

Or I could look for some promotional sites that aren't the kind that only other authors post on, hoping desperately to be noticed and re-posted or re-Tweeted.

Or (and this is more likely) I'll grab my iPad and click on Acorn, which I joined for a free month last night in order to watch Louise Penney's "Still Life," the first in her Three Pines mystery series.

And watch a movie.

Yeah, that sounds like a plan for a lazy, hot Tuesday afternoon
.

Second day blahs

It is second-day letdown here in Dreamland. You build up to something and then suddenly -pfft! -- it's over.

Sorta like vacation, or Christmas.

Now that the book has launched, I'm not exactly looking around and saying "What's next?" I already know. Promotion. Finishing the sequel. And all the other stuff you have to do if writing is a career and not a hobby. I'm sorta on the brink right now. I actually went to my LinkedIn page and listed myself as "author."

That was a big step. Up until now, I've though of my writing as a pleasant way to waste spend my time.

But now I've decided to get serious about it. Which means spending some time everyday writing as well as promoting.

Lordy, if the book sells maybe I can afford to hire a publicist!

Yeah, right. Well, as the title says, what's the "definition of a dream?" It's having the things you dreamed of coming true. Which they have, for me.  Ten years ago I never thought I'd have an author page on Amazon.

Now I have six books listed.

Yay! but I still need to sort the laundry, make the beds, and empty the dishwasher.

It isn't all glamour,  folks.

Now here's a picture of Spooky, just because.

And more...

The book trailer was created by my talented son.

And here is another excerpt just for Definition of a Dream readers:

     A slight noise made her look down. One of the thugs had recovered consciousness and was reaching for a knife. The metal of the blade gleamed under the streetlight’s rays. As Caroline concentrated on it, her eyes narrowed, the knife skittered just beyond his grasp. He grunted, reached again, this time getting a firm hold on the handle, and stood. Nathan and Fitz, looking down the street in anticipation of help, were oblivious of the danger scant inches behind them.

     There was no time to warn them. Caroline grabbed the first thing she saw, which was Amelia’s umbrella. With one quick step she poked the man in the back with the tip.

     “Drop the knife or I will blow a hole in your chest a greyhound could leap through,” she commanded.     When the man hesitated, she gave him another, harder jab. “I mean what I say. Drop it!” The horrors she had just endured made her reckless. All she wanted was for this nightmare to end and this idiot was not going to prolong it.

     The man obeyed and the knife clattered across the cobblestones.

     “Now sit down or I’ll shoot your head off. Maybe I’ll do it anyway. It could only improve your looks.”

     “No, don’t,” the man begged, sitting rather abruptly on one of his fellow’s legs.
     Fitz laughed when he saw the situation. “She means it,” he advised. “I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

The end of summer -- not!

I see the school parking lots are full as teachers ready their classrooms for the influx of students in just two weeks. I'm not going to say "Where did the summer go?' because it hasn't.  Summer doesn't end until September 23.

My grandsons, who live in Georgia, started school yesterday -- which effectively ended their summer.

All I can say is, "Thank heaven for air conditioning!"

School used to end for the year after Memorial Day in May and not start up again until after Labor Day. I suspect the schedule had less to do with the fact that no one can learn anything when the temperatures soar into the high eighties as that the students were needed at home to help with the family farm.

The long summer also made it ideal for non-farming teens to find jobs. Employers were willing to hire on for three months, whereas today they aren't so eager to take on part-timers for a scant six weeks or so.

I had a summer job as soon as I could get my "working papers" at fourteen. We lived by an amusement park that was a mecca for local teens who wanted to earn some money. I served soft ice cream, wearing a white uniform and a hair net as required by the Board of Health.  I saved all my paychecks until September and then shopped for school clothes. What a thrill it was to pick out my own wardrobe and pay with my own hard-earned money!

But not all teens are as lucky, and for some the long summer drags on and on, with "nothing to do." So maybe it's a good idea to shorten it. I'm more and more becoming a proponent of year-long school. Family farms are a thing of the past. Jobs are scarce for adults, let alone teens. And with both parents working these days, leaving kids unsupervised all day is a recipe for trouble.

With year-round school, the start of school won't signal the "end of summer" because there would be no "start date."

I have no idea what that would do to the economy because it would also put an end to "back to school sales" in stores.

And then we would have no idea when summer was over. I guess we'd find out when the leaves started changing and we turned our air conditioners off.

Like Mother Nature intended.